He Is My Victory, My Excalibur
by KrautVanWolfenstein
Summary: Inspired by a wonderful fanfic by TypeMoonFreak, the "Timeline of Fate". This is a story, a crossover, that changed the war...in a way. Yet, in another way, the war never change. (minor spoilers, maybe, and also with many "colorful" words)
1. Prelude

_War, war never changes._

_Well, that's a lie_

_War does change, as humanity's ill fate to walk forever in the cycle of change. Goals change, weapons change, and even the numbers of the dead change. The only unchanging part of war is in its own identity of conflict and bloodshed, of the victor and the vanquished, and of the living and the dead. _

Another day of hellish heat in Mojave wasteland, and yet another day of life for the courier, as he walked across the dead land. His black metal helmet, even though had saved him numerous times from bullets and blades, could only offer a little protection from the heat. He took a sip from his trusted canteen. "Water's shit, but at least no rad in it", he thought, as he put away the metal flask and donned his usual black gas mask. Sandy wind swept across him and his long black coat danced with the billow behind him. He returned to tread the cracked soil and the sandy ground of the wasteland. He's back on his journey….

_From the birth of the existence and to the face of the apocalypse, each and every organism has struggled by ending lives of the others. In the course of such bloody history, reason for war has shifted for too many times. For riches, for honor, for justice, for the glory of God, and many more. Yet, all of them share the same endgame conclusion: In war, everyone wants to live…._

He trod on the dying ground of the wasteland with a steady pace. Hot dust and dry sand blew against him. Still he kept on striding without slowing down. He didn't sprint, and yet he didn't drag. His belongings were many, but they didn't encumber him. His vigor was at maximum, and he had no wish to squander it in a futile sprinting. His experience in the wasteland had taught him a good lesson, that overexerting stamina in the middle of the desert will kill you.

_To live. It's the very reason for men and beasts to fight, to evolve and to kill one another, be it the highest of the kings to the lowest of the beasts. Caesar, House, Kimball…they all sugarcoated the ugly truth with freedom, order and independence; Yet, in the end, they are all clinging hopelessly to their fleeting lives as equals before the reaper._

The cracked soil finally met the rocky terrain. The courier stopped at his track as he looked over the mountainous ground before him. He checked his destination on his pip-boy. He was close to the area for his quest as the distance between him and the said place had been decreasing progressively. Currently, he was 5 miles in the east from the Primm. He continued to walk, as his pip boy was bleeping furiously, indicating him that he was closing in to the target area.

_Caesar, in his deathbed, clutching futilely to his life, as his ailment slowly claimed him…_

The bleeping died and in its place, a green light shone ceaselessly, as the courier reached his destination. He raised his head to look upon his target, and what appeared before him through the crimson lenses of the gas mask, startled him.

"A vault!"

_House, in his cybernetic coffin, helpless as contaminants claimed whatever left of him…._

The courier switched the destination tracker into silent mode on his pip-boy. He unholstered his choice weapon, a ranger sequoia; a gift from a retired but noble ranger, Chief Hanlon. "Hope you're doing alright, old man.", the courier muttered in his mind, as he inspected the rare hunting revolver. A large black revolver, with quality redwood adorns its handle. Its body and chamber are decorated with golden-colored flowery engravings. Its trigger, safety pin and iron sight are golden colored as well. Its barrel is etched with words in golden; "_For Honorable Service_" on its right, and "_Against All Tyrants_" on its left. On its redwood handle is an etching of a golden bear and silver star; an emblem of the proud NCR rangers. He could only be amazed by the work of art in his palm, with his gloved-fingers greedily tighten on its handle. In the hand of a veteran ranger, this is indeed an extension of the reaper's scythe.

_Kimball, lungs and spine punctured from a single .50 MG armor piercing bullet, haplessly gasping for air as death claimed him…_

"Good, no defect, rust or whatsoever." He hated a jammed weapon, especially when it happened in the heat of a hard battle. He recalled a rather unpleasant memories of using a half repaired laser pistol against a family of deathclaws in the quarry. It was not pretty for him, even though he survived the battle.

_Legate, Eddie, Motor-Runner, Papa Khan…slaves of conflict, slaves of want, slaves of death, and the reaper claimed them all….._

He checked its bullet chamber. All five chambers were fully loaded with .45-70 Govt. standards. He checked again for some spare ammunition in his rucksack. He was delighted. The ammunitions, .45-70 Govt. hollow points, hand loads and standards, were plenty. No worry of running out of ammos in the gunfight. He holstered the gun and checked for his secondary weapon.

_Benny, unwarranted hero, all-time traitor and failing villain, lost in ambition and cross claimed him….._

The courier pulled out a combat knife from its sheath, strapped on his thigh. Patches of Dry blood adorns its blade. Its handle is covered with worn-out animal skin. Though the blade seems to be old and rusted, its jagged edge and side are still as sharp as it was in its glory days. It was retrieved from a lone grave in the outland during the courier's quest on finding his unsuccessful killer.

_Chance, a khan, haunted by his past, and past claimed him alone in the vastness of the wasteland…._

The courier sheathed back the combat knife. He made last-round preparations. When he finished, the sun had set. Good, now he was in his element. Taking out his ranger sequoia, he entered the metallic cold tomb from the time past.

_A religious teaching of the past once affirmed that those who vainly seek to preserve their lives shall lose them and those who selflessly sacrifice their own for the sake of many shall receive eternal ones. In Mojave, they all die the same death regardless of their noble ideals or unscrupulous intentions; dead, forgotten and rotten beneath the irradiated soil. Indeed, war has changed. Yet, its thirst for blood and its hunger for the dead are still the same. Men, abominations and beasts struggle to appease such thirst and hunger with the lives of others. But, in the end, sooner or later, death will still claim every life, mine included. _

_But not today._

_Today is not my time. Today is the day I still keep breathing and the day my enemies lose theirs. Today is the day my enemies die._

_And so starts the prelude of another tale of bloody conflict; a story of dead rulers and fallen heroes, of deceit and betrayal, and with me, the courier, in the midst of the chaos and confusion. My name is John Grimm, courier number 6 of the Mojave Express, and this is my story._


	2. Chapter 1: Bye-Bye Birdie

_2 days ago_

"_So tell me again, what I have to do now?" Grimm lazily asked the now-irked scientist as he scratched his unkempt hair._

"_Have you been listening to me all this time?" Arcade annoyingly sighed. "You just need to check whatever in there that causes this electrical disturbance here, and fix it."_

"_Why?"_

"_Oh, no reason." Arcade deadpanned. "We don't need our medical appliances and food processors to help the ever flowing refugees from the war anyway."_

"_Hey, it's not my fault! You were there too." The Courier replied while pretending to be offended._

_Arcade raised his eyebrow._

"_Fine, fine, you win." The hero of the Mojave mused " So, where is it again?"_

"_Few miles to the east from Primm."_

_The Courier raised to his feet ,and left the tent. Before he made his way to the wooden gate of the Old Mormon Fort, he approached another follower of the apocalypse in there._

"_Yo, Jules."_

"_Well, well." The doctor smirked. "If it isn't the infamous Grimm of the Mojave Express. What can I do for you, friend?"_

"_Some stimpaks will do."_

_Julia Farkas rushed to the nearby footlocker and opened the metallic box. She then produced five syringe-like instruments with red liquid wriggling inside the transparent tubes._

"_Will these do?" The doctor handed the stimpaks to the courier._

"_These will be great." Grimm smiled, as he put the received stimpaks to his ransack and placed a bag of bottle caps on the doctor's hand. "I'll be going now."_

"_Arcade's been troubling you?"_

" _Nah, the king has also asked me to check out the cause of this recent blackouts."_

"_Do you have any idea on the one who causes it?" _

"_Probably abominations or bandits." The courier replied. "They might find out a power relay and probably messing with it as well."_

"_Yeah, you're probably right."_

"_Well, I tell you all when I get back." Grimm then turned away and started walking to the gate._

"_Grimm!" The doctor called up to him. The courier turned his gas-masked face to his shoulder, looking back to the source of the voice._

"_Be safe."_

* * *

Grimm started to feel edgy when the metallic round door behind him closed itself. Indeed, he was in his element when the sun set, and his preparations were top-notch. But, a vault always holds unspeakable dangers and horrors within; all of them are as sinister as the dangers on the surface. Readying his gun, the courier started exploring the dark and dimly lighted corridors of the mysterious vault.

_In the eve of the cataclysmic war that torn the world asunder, those who seek refuge from the radiation and the blast had created sanctuaries all across the land of now-lost United States of America. These sanctuaries are actually intricate network of bunkers mirroring the complexity of spider web that reach miles deep under the ground. And within those bunkers are not just means of protection from hazardous radiation and lethal contaminants that were used as weapons of war, but also state-of-the-art means to preserve humankind and its civilization from complete annihilation. Living quarters and life support systems with capability to accommodate thousands of inhabitants; hospitals and laboratories with full and complete apparatuses and medications to perform even most the complex treatments and surgeries; and artificial garden and hydroponic farms to grow limited but still a wide range of vegetables and fruits; as well as other necessary constructions to benefit the lives of men were installed within those bunkers. The designers, architects, and builders were confident that mankind will outlast the war and fallout, and then once again, prosper on the surface._

_They were wrong._

_As soon as each metallic circular entrance on every vaults was sealed, the fate of the inhabitants were sealed as well. The creators of the vaults had anticipated any external dangers that could harm the safety of the inhabitants. Unfortunately, they had not anticipated the danger within. The refugees. Although appeared to be civilized, were not far from the beasts. Made up from different kind of people with different kind of background and beliefs, the refugees were ticking bombs to social disorder and civil unrest within the underground shelters. The first few decades were relatively peaceful, as every refugee was working together under the common goal of preserving humanity. After those years, the corrupt nature of men began to blossom. Most vaults had their ruling parties turned to oppressive and corrupt administration, which caused major discontent among the people. In some vaults, several groups of discontent individuals, which had gained control over the people, deposed the authorities in bloody struggle for power and turned the shelter into living hell. In others, the ruling authorities, working together with group of scientist, had dedicated themselves to perverted science in hopes of creating super soldiers. The twisted experiments failed and produced what are still known today as abominations and mutants, which in turn fell upon their creators and tormentors; no humans was left in those vaults when the children of depraved science were unleashed from their prisons. Several vaults had their inhabitants locked in bloody civil wars over power and resources that lasted for years. The consequences were terrible; life support systems and other facilities that provide sustenance began to fail as the toil of wars overwhelm them all. As the result, lethal radiation and contaminants began to seep through those vaults and killed most of the inhabitants. Those who survived were changed as their humanities were stripped, and what were left resemble closely to the nightmarish walking dead that preyed upon the flesh of the living men. Few vaults with its inhabitants were spared from the evil of men, though they were not spared from witnessing live footage of the massacres and slaughters that were happened in their neighboring vaults. After a century passed, every surviving vaults lost contact and communication to one another, isolating themselves completely from the surviving government of United States of America. In the end, every vaults with a few human survivors in it began to develop their own culture and proper on their own terms. At the time the vault reopened the sealed entrance, what came out were different from the ones that came in. Most were violent and cruel, some were suspicious and feral, others were dignified but untrusting, and the rest were just normal by human standard. As what's left of the refugees and their descendants stepped out from the shelters, they encounter a very different world from what they used to know._

_The unforgiving, rad-filled environment were standing against humanity effort to reclaim their power over the earth. The walkers of the earth, the products of the terrible war, were also lurking on its surface, waiting on the unsuspecting prey. Confronted with choice of facing the unknown dangers of the outside world, and accepting the extinction of mankind, the survivors chose the former. Equipped with worn out equipment, the survivors had to rely on their instincts and knowledge to survive the trials of the new world. And thus began the time of men returning to the surface, and leaving the vaults. Though most vaults had been emptied and served only as the grim reminder of the wickedness of men, the evil within never really departed. _

_As empty souls are tempting vessel for demons, so are the vaults. Abandoned but not emptied, the vaults, treasure troves laden with dark secrets, are now den of bandits and dwelling of the terrors left from the time past. Within them are not only dark secrets and unleashed monstrosities, yet also riches and knowledge lost from the past. They hold both promises and dangers alike._

_I hate it. Very much._

_I hate the cramped space. I hate the dimly-lighted corridors. And I hate the waiting enemies on the dark corners._

_And yet, here I am._

The corridor was murky. _As always_. The sound of boots thumping on the metal could only unnerve him even more. Though his night vision module that was built into his helmet works perfectly fine, he still loathed the shadowy setting that was the vault. The darkness of the cold corridors of the vault is not the same with the darkness of the night. While the latter is serene and comforting, the former is just….plain dead. The scene of the mysterious vault is eerily similar to the scene in an old sci-fi/horror movie about an alien organism running amok within a spaceship and butchering its crews. Somehow, the courier felt like one of the casts in that movie. He shivered at the thought.

Dry blood splatters are all around the wall. "This must be the one of the vaults where the bloody coup happened." The Courier thought to himself. Tyranny always breeds violence, which in turn breeds other violence as well. He sighed heavily. He is peaceful man, yet accustomed to violence and brutality and will not hesitate to do them when faced with the threat to his survival. He recalled that one time he had to resort on using anti-materiel rifle when a negotiation to some legionnaires turned sour. It was not pretty. Still, life is life. It's precious, no matter whose life it is. The courier prefers peaceful solutions rather than bloody take downs.

He kept on walking, passing through automatic doors, and unlocking terminals. He found out from the records and journals downloaded through the hacked terminal, that the vault was a thriving producer of hydroponic vegetables, and its inhabitants were proud community of farmers. They used to distribute its surplus to other vaults in the time when communication and interaction between vaults were clear and smooth. Then suddenly, before the time of chaos and unrest around the vaults, communication was cut off and the regular supply abruptly stopped. From the downloaded record, the courier noticed something strange about the delivery. "How could these people, locked in a sealed underground nuclear shelter that goes miles beneath the sea level, be able to transport crates filled with vegetables to the other vaults without harming themselves to the radiation?"

The answer seemingly lie deeper within the lower grounds of the vault.

The elevator is out. Even with the courier's level of repairing and science, the elevator is too busted to be operational again. This hindrance made him to use the stairs. The scene in the lower ground is not so far away from the previous floor, albeit it's colder and more dry blood splatters on the floor and the wall. There are many broken crates lying on the ground, together with rotten potatoes and carrots. "Shame." He thought to himself. He kept on moving and unlocking more terminals. The dead silence of the corridor, although was creepy as hell, didn't faze the gas-masked courier. Still, he didn't like this place a bit. With the lack of dead bodies and the journals that he found earlier from the hacked terminals, his instinct to get-the-hell-out-of-this-place was screaming nonstop. One of the journals that he found described how this vault lost contact with the others and had its people slaughtered. It stated that something is going awry with the "device" that the people of the vault used to transport the excess vegetables that they produce, and one day, the "device" let in the "invaders" to come and slaughter everyone. But one thing still lingered. "Where are the bodies?".

(Growl)

"Fuck."

The courier turned to his left. A silhouette in the dark corner of the corridor, as big as a Rottweiler, was moving fast toward him. The rhythmic sound of claws clanging to metal railings kept on getting quicker and quicker. And the growling turned to vicious barking. Danger was imminent.

As the courier leveled the ranger sequoia to the direction of the beast, time seemed to slow down. Through his crimson lenses, he pinpointed every part of his enemy; the head, the torso, the fore legs and the hind legs. He could cripple, maim or simply kill the assailant. Now, the enemy was in his mercy.

BANG

A flash illuminated the dark corridor for a millisecond. A gunshot sound ricocheted throughout the corridors. The assailant fell. What supposed to be the head of the beast on its neck, now sporting an odd blossoming flower of gore and blood. Its crimson life nectar poured out to the metal floor. The pungent odor of the dead soon filled the corridor. The gas-masked courier knelt down to the corpse in order to have a better view on the corpse; to know what kind of creature his enemy was. Its body, lean and decaying, had some patches of gray fur. Its feet, fore and hind legs, all had the same patches of fur, and on the paws were elongated and sharpened claws. The entire characteristics of the enemy pointed to the single figure in his mind.

"Attack hound."

(More growls and incoherent jabbers)

In front of him, more attack hounds and possibly their masters were moving toward him from the shadows of the corridors. The courier opened fire again. More body parts are strewn around and more bodies dropped dead. As flashes of light flickered from the mouth of the gun, once again illumined the dark chambers of the vault for an instant, died, and flashed again till the gun shot no more. In moment of flashes, as the light from the mechanism of metal hitting the bullet and igniting the gunpowder fell over his terrifying gas mask briefly, he saw another type of his assailants. A person, or what's left of a person, donning a strange sleeveless body armor made of metal across its torso. Its legs, protected only by the metallic shin guards and boots, had shown the creature's deformed boney thighs. The same went to its arms; while the lower limbs and hands were gauntleted, the unprotected and boney shoulder and upper limbs were deformed. Its head was a decaying mound of flesh upon a skull. While it still sported the essential parts for sight and nourishment, it lacked hearing and smelling parts. Patches of skin could be seen dangling on the rotten flesh and bits of hair were still glued on its scalp. The assailant was armed as well; in its right hand, a broadsword. Apart of the assailant's armor and weapon, those characteristics, too pointed out only a single type of enemies that the courier had encountered during his adventure in Mojave wasteland.

"Ghoul"

The courier moved in to the dead ghoul. He was fascinated to the armor and weapon that it wielded. Though the courier had initially thought that the assailant should be a ghoul legionnaire when he saw its get-up, apparently those equipment were not standard of the legion forces. Though heavily corroded, the armor, shin guards, boots, gauntlets and the broadsword seemed to be produced not from the salvage materials that commonly used in producing legionnaire's armor and melee weapons. The courier picked up the broadsword to inspect it further. It has a round pommel, a long handle for two-handed use, and a cross-guard that separates the handle and the blade. The blade itself, although heavily rusted and ragged, is long and straight. The broadsword itself was very different than the broadsword of Mojave: the blade of the west.

"Pity." The courier said, as he let go the broadsword from his hand, letting it clanked the metal floor. The material is too wasted to be salvaged, and bringing them will only take a good space for potentially good items in the future. Even though they won't encumber him, the courier doesn't like the notion of filling his rucksack with craps. Still, the armor and the sword could make lovely souvenirs to the folks in the remnant's bunker. Maybe they could tell one or two things about the armor and broadsword. With that in mind, the courier looted those into his small rucksack. How those items could fit the space in his bag is always a mystery to him.

He stood up and once again returned to his quest. More growls and howls echoed throughout the corridors. He readied his ranger sequoia in his right hand and chance's knife in his left. He stepped into the darkness. The sound of gunshot rang once again throughout the corridors, along with the swish of metal ripping flesh and screams of the vanquished. The hounds and the ghouls were no more.

The courier finally descended to the fifth level of the vault. His journey, although wasn't smooth, didn't give too much of a challenge. Thanks to his marksmanship and sneaking expertise, the dogs and the ghouls lost their heads before they even noticed he was there. The time he used his knife was only at the time when an unfortunate ghoul stood to close to the terminal that he needed to be hacked. His target was its forehead. He clamped the blade between his index finger and his thumb. His hand was steady, his grip was strong and his aim was true. The courier flung the knife with great force, and the knife stroke true. The blade penetrated the skull, and the ghoul was no more. Although he didn't find any dead bodies that were the real ex-inhabitants of the vault, he found more entries from hacked terminals that describe the futile effort of repelling the "invaders" by the residents. Although technologically inferior to the defenders of the residents that were utilizing firearms and energy weapons, the invaders had the superiority in numbers. Soon the defenders were overwhelmed, as the "invaders" kept on pouring out from the "door". As the last resort, a brave resident, named Charlie stepped up to close the "door". It proved to be a suicidal endeavor. Before he lost his life, the brave man overloaded the reactor that empowered the "door" which in turn, closing the "door" for good but unleashing lethal and debilitating radiation to the vault. Any surviving residents were killed by it and as for the "invaders", those strong enough to resist the deadly touch of the radiation, were soon altered into deformed mindless ghouls that lurked within the vault. Fortunately, most of them are dead. Still, those entries didn't answer his questions, and another question added up from those entries.

"What is the "door"?" The question echoed in his mind.

The courier finally reached to the source of the problem, as the distance between him and his quest target, which was shown in his pip-boy, had been reduced to zero. He found himself in a very large room, as large as one of the maintenance facility in Camp McCarran that was used in maintaining landed aircrafts. Rows of tall cone-like objects that are the tesla poles, adorned every sides of the walls. Standing in the middle of the room is a large circular object with a large hole in its center. Metallic cables that are connecting the object with power-supplying the tesla poles, are strewn over the floor, making it eerily similar to the unholy love-child of machine and octopus. Beside the object is a large metallic box that displayed a terminal on it. This is an ungiven invitation for John Grimm.

He made his way to the terminal. The display is the same with the other terminals that he had encountered. One thing that is different with the rest of them is what is displayed on the monitor.

(VAULT_TEC_MINI_POR_3.0)

* * *

(PASSWORD:_)

"MINI-POR? What's a MINI-POR?" The courier thought to himself. Whatever it is, it has to do with the "door" and the coming of the "invaders". He will finally get his answers…if he could find the password first. _Piece of Cake._

Across the Mojave wasteland, there is no safes and terminals that is too safe and too secure from the fingers and the brain of the courier. Be it and old terminal and rusty hard-box in Goodsprings Saloon to the state-of-the-art supercomputer in 's domain, the courier will get his hands on the contents within, unknown and undetected. And this terminal in front of him shall also surrender its content to him and join the ranks of the conquered computers and safes that he had unlocked. He began clicking the consoles, inputting commands. After 5 minutes…

(HACKING SUCCEED)

_Yes_

(VAULT_TEC_MINI_POR_3.0)

(WELCOME_USER)

(MINI_POR_OVERVIEW)

(CURRENT_ACTIVITIES)

(DISENGAGE_POWER)

_Chose overview_

(MINI_POR_OVERVIEW)

STATE_OF_THE_ART_TECHNOLOGY_THAT_HARNESSES_TESLA_E LECTRICAL_ENERGIES_TO_CREATE_LOCALIZED_WORMHOLE_AT _THE_CURRENT_LOCATION_AND_AT_THE_DESIRED_DESTINATI ON. MINIATURIZED_FORM_OF_THE_SUPER_(DATA_CORRUPT)_IT_I S_ABLE_TO_BRIDGE_DISTANCE_BY_COMPRESSING_TIME_AND_ SPACE_THUS_ELIMINATING_THE_FACTOR_OF_TIME_AND_THE_ NEED_OF_TRAVELLING_IN_TRANSPORTING_SUPPLIES_AND_ME N. PROJECT_REDIRECTED_INTO_INSTALLATION_IN_VAULT_K200 2_ALONG_WITH_EXPERIMENTAL_REACTOR_KRONOS_AND_(DATA -CORRUPT).

CREATED_BY_REVERSE_ENGINEERING_(DATA_CORRUPT) TECH_RETRIEVED_FROM_(DATA-CORRUPT)_AND_SPONSORED_B Y _(DATA-CORRUPT)_(DATA-CORRUPT)_(DATA-CORRUPT)_(DAT A-CORRUPT).

_Chose current activities_

(ACTIVITIES)

(PRESENT) REROUTING_POWER_LINES_O3456_OF_HOOVER_DAM_TO_REPLA CE_REACTOR_KRONOS_OF_VAULT-K2002.

(PREVIOUS) (DATA-CORRUPT)

(PREVIOUS) (DATA-CORRUPT)

(PREVIOUS) (DATA-CORRUPT)

(PREVIOUS) (DATA-CORRUPT)

(PREVIOUS) (OFFLINE)

_This must be the "door" those entries referred to. A teleportation device, which in great possibility was sponsored by the Government and Vault-tec. Somehow, the device must be going nuts and for the result, it opened a rift somewhere unknown, letting those "invaders" into the vault, and killing all these people. No matter. This device is inoperational anymore so no worries of these "invaders" coming into this world. What matters is this device still sucks power from Hoover Dam, leaving more than half settlements across the Mojave wasteland without power and miserable. This ends today._

_Chose disengage power _

(SYSTEM OFFLINE)

The display turned black. _Another job done_. The courier turned his back and started to walk toward the door. As he was going to leave the room, the dormant machines suddenly brought themselves to live. The humming sound from the revived machineries turned to roaring sound as sparks after sparks hopped from one tesla pole to another. The cables started to feed the massive circular ring in the center of the room, and the ring itself began to glow.

"Shit."

The courier rushed to the terminal. He began typing command furiously.

WARNING_WARNING_UNKNOWN_POWER_INFLUX_DESTINATION_D ETECTED_UNKNOWN_SYSTEM_OVERRIDE_WORMHOLE_OPENING_I MMINENT_STAND_CLEAR_WARNING_WARNING

Small hole, surrounded by lightning sparks, began to appear in the center of the ring.

"SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT!"

The courier typed even more furiously. No command seemed to be able to powered down the machines, and the small hole began to grow bigger and bigger, revealing utter darkness inside.

(COMMAND_404_NOT_FOUND)

(MANUAL_OVERRIDE_FAILURE)

"SHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITS HITSHITSHITSHITSHIT SHITSHITSHITSHIT!"

And then….

The courier began to float, along with other unfixed objects in the room. The glow began to shine brighter and grow even bigger, along with the dark hole in its center, creating a giant halo of light and dark. The darkness started to suck everything, and the courier was pulled into it. As the courier unsuccessfully struggled to stay away from the devouring darkness, the bright giant halo turned into blinding bright and enveloped everything in total brightness.

The courier number 6, John Grimm, was no more….


	3. Chapter 2: Have a Nice Day

**Things to remember:**

**1. I do not own Fallout New Vegas, and I do not own Fate/ Stay night.**

**2. You might notice the courier to be unusually different. Well, that's because I am playing with mods in pc.**

**2. I thank you all for your awesome reviews**

**3. I hope and pray that I can keep on writing stuffs**

**4. Enjoy!**

* * *

Grann Durstin was an honest man. Born as the only son from a couple of average farmers outside the village of Grassywool, the typical brown-haired village boy that was Grann, lived most of his life like any other boys in that village: rough, happy and reckless. His parents, worried that their only son was turning into a prodigal boy, assigned him to do odd jobs around the small farm that they owned. At first, he stubbornly refused, but under the threat of being expelled and disowned, Grann had no choice but to comply. On his fourteenth birthday, Grann began his life of honest toil. Unfortunately, the farmer's son had no wish to renounce his youthful wastefulness.

His meager wages, earned from his profession as a shepherd and a small time farmer in a small village of Grassywool, were spent on wine or dice or both on the table of the small pub in the village. He kept on living obliviously, to the future and to the ever growing tension of the civil unrest throughout the land. However, in his defense, the village of Grassywool itself is one of the most far-flung villages known in the land. It's not a surprise that everyone in the village, including the Durstin family, didn't have any slightest idea about the ongoing rebellion against the king. That, added with the simple assumption that the village was too insignificant for the needs of the king and his enemies, the villagers including the young Grann, continued on their daily lives of toiling and merry-making.

Grann Durstin passed eighteen summers in said village, living in the same reckless lifestyle when he was twelve, and in process, earning him frowning and scowling glares from his fellow villagers and parents. Then one day, he abruptly decided to turn to a new leaf. This of course made his parents to be utterly confused. What made such a man to change his life direction in a sudden way? What drove him to abandon his usual careless living? The answer rested on a maiden who just celebrated her seventeenth birthday named Mabelline Stoutfeet.

Born as the eldest of two daughters from a blacksmith father and a housewife mother, Mabelline, or was casually called Mabell, was one of Grann's unruly gang members when they were young. Now, young Mabell was a stunning beauty of the village. Although she didn't possess the elegance like the one possessed by the nobilities, Mabell had the attractiveness that could stun any men in the land, be it nobles or peasants. Standing nearly the height of every men in the village, she was the tallest girl in Grassywool. Her long furious red hair like dancing bonfire, adorned her freckled but energetic face. Whenever she swung her hair around, an angelic music could be heard briefly, as few villagers had testified so. Her athletic body, slim but strong, enhanced even further with her sizeable chest, had put every men to waggle their tongue upon seeing her. Clothed in simple garments that any average villagers could afford, Mabell's unfettered beauty, compared to other Grassywool's beauties, shone brightly like raw diamond among river stones. Every time she passed by a group of villagers, glares of jealousy from fellow maidens and wolfish whistles from the boys followed her. Yet, despite of her attractiveness, there was little to none marriage proposals asking for her hand.

This, of course, was not surprise. Anyone who had lived in Grassywool for most of their lives or had made an aquintances with the lovely Mabell knew how spunky, rough and violent the maiden's conducts were. Though she was brought in a relatively happy family, she was taught not to yield for anything because she was a woman. Her father, a rowdy but compassionate giant whose profession was the village's blacksmith, practically raised her like a boy. As the result, she found familiarity in the Grassywool's troublemakers, where she befriended the young Grann Durstin and became fast friends with him. Her friendship with the troublemakers demanded her to involve in series of pranks and tussles, which usually ended with her being brought in front of her father and her mother by the angry elders and parents. Her father, being the muscle of the house, could only guffawed at the sight, while her mother, being the brain and the heart of the house, could only sighed at both of them and profusely apologized to the angry victims. She was considered to grow as a foul woman by the villagers. Fortunately, her caring mother managed to educate her some decorum and lady-like attitudes, and by the time she reached the age of fifteen, she had turned into a well-mannered and knowledgeful beauty, with strength to match. It was a matter of days for marriage proposals to flood the doorstep of the Stoutfeet's residence.

It was proven true, although all of them were replied with utter rejection from the maiden and her parents. One of the reasons which particularly voiced by the wise mother, was that Mabell's far too young to be wedded for her father's and mother's liking. This fashion of receiving and rejecting kept on going for a year, until one day, a baron and his son came knocking the door of the Stoutfeets. The story of the beauty that was Mabell, although didn't travel far from the vicinity of Grassywool, had arrived to the ears of Aurey Holstock, the son of the Baron Holstock, the landlord of Grassywool. The spoiled son of the noble beseeched his father with great insistence to have Mabell as his wife, and the old baron, faced with such persistence from his only son,the only reminder of his dead beloved wife, could only comply. After making an apology letter that also stated the annulment of the engagement of his son to a daughter of a wealthy merchant and sending it along with sumptuous amount of gold to the furious merchant, the old baron and his son embarked to the village of Grassywool and stopped right on the doorstep of the Stoutfeets. The parents of the lovely maiden of course disliked the baron's son greatly, especially after hearing the circulating rumor about the son's shameless escapade in skirt-chasing. Mabell's father stood menacingly by the door with his giant hammer before his wife reproached him and let the scared guests in.

The old baron was very humble and sincere in uttering his intention and desire, and although the parents' much dislike of the old baron's immoral son, they relented. Remembering the old baron's kindness in helping the villagers during the lean seasons, his sincerity in submitting his proposal of uniting two families and his promise of wealth, the proposed's parents submitted, but under a condition that after a year of probation, their daughter held the final consent whether or not the engagement was to be held. Such term was immediately agreed by the son and his father that the son would firstly win the heart of the maiden before asking for her hand. Mabell reluctantly agreed, and she was to leave an empty day in a week for the Aurey's weekly wooing. It would seem that the future of the young maiden and her family were set in wealth.

It was wrong, very wrong.

A week after the visit from the baron and his son, the noble's son came to woo the maiden. The wooing took place in a spot under the tree outside the village, a romantic site for lovers and would-be lovers to express their admiration and infatuation toward each other. Alas, Aurey had no intention on pursuing romantic relationship with his future fiancee' for in his mind, Mabell was no different than all of his "conquest". He began to make his move with his sweet words, his hands, and his lips. He started with words of praises. She didn't faze out. He advanced her with another approach by holding her hand tightly. It still didn't faze her. He was desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measure; He kissed her on her lips. Mabell was stunned. She never expected something so drastic to happen so fast. She was petrified, and in the eyes of the young noble, it was a moment of weakness. He moved for the strike as he kept smothering her lips with his. He put his left hand around her waist and his right hand on her chest. He started kneading them, unknowingly waking her from her daze. Suddenly, the primeval instinct of survival in the back of his mind screamed like never ever, warning him furiously of the imminent danger. He ignored it, judging it simply as the growing craving to ravish the maiden.

Of course, he's mistaken, and for that, he paid the price…dearly.

First came the punch to the gut, stopping him to go any further. Next, a punch to the face like no other, dislocating his jaw completely. Then came the pain in the form of a nut-buster kick, and followed with a shoulder-dislocating hold, putting the pervert down on the ground. After that, Hails of punches, bashes, kicks, spits and curses bombarded the poor fop. The once gentle woman now launched her fists and boots with fury like a possessed berserker. Blind fury overcame her good judgment and all she could see in her eyes was pure red hot wrath and bloodlust. By the time her rage subsided, she was shocked to find not the baron's son, but a thing in front of her. The mysterious thing was a lump of flesh with something resembled to arms and legs fused tightly to the slab. Somehow, if the thing was looked more carefully and closely, it resembled a man curled in fetal position with its hand shielding its head. Looking it for the second time, a moment of clarity returned to Mabell's mind and immediately she realized that the thing, the unsightly lump, was actually the baron's son. She panicked while dragging the unconscious noble to the village. Some villagers, including Grann saw her plight and helped her in bringing the wretch to the healer. Aurey finally gained his consciousness and realized how sore his entire body, and then she saw the worried maiden beside his bed. To say he was afraid of her was a big understatement. He was scarred mentally and physically after getting his ass handed to him by a young woman in blind fury, and as his vision projected the image of such girl in to his mind, it only told him one thing that he had to do for the sake of his survival: run. And with it, the baron's son bolted out from the bed and to the door, stormed to the stable and jumped right onto his horse, and finally galloped away from the village. He was never seen again around the vicinity of Grassywool.

The engagement was called off. Although Mabell's parents were overjoyed with the news, only the wise mother took a prudent effort in masking her joy by showing her displeasure in Mabell's violent deed. Meanwhile, her father just roared in laughter when Mabell narrated the event of that fateful evening. Despite of Mabell's and her father's protests, the wise mother took an extra mile by taking her husband, her wayward daughter and her youngest for a journey to the Holstock's castle in order to express their apology to the scarred man and his father. Being the one with sound mind and absolute power over the house, Mabell, her father and her sister could only comply, and they set off for the journey to the castle. The trip was a silent one. Although it was not spoken, the fear of the baron's retaliation was expressed in their faces. In worst case, the Stoutfeets might lose their property and trade, while in the best case; they might be imposed to pay a costly fine. To their surprise, they were warmly received by the old baron. A feast was set for them on the evening of their arrival. The Stoutfeet were greatly puzzled. Although old and frail, baron Holstock was a perceptive man and he quickly felt his guests' bewilderment. The kind baron then revealed the reason behind lavish treatment that he gave to them. Apparently the violent event that befell upon the baron's son had flipped a switch within him. Now, Aurey Holstock tried his best to make amend of his past mistakes, starting with him personally went to his ex-fiancée's estate to ask for forgiveness. The upset merchant and his daughter were bemused by the man's action; accepting every insults thrown at him and apologizing humbly without even asking to mend the broken commitment between him and his ex-fiancée. Still, they were touched by his sincerity and by the end of the day, Aurey Holstock, the future baron Holstock, found himself reengaged with the same woman that he had dumped before. Since then, the man immersed himself with learning ways of governing and tending the family business diligently. The baron also had questions about the sudden change of his son's behavior, but knowing that the Stoutfeets had to do something about it, he kept quiet. The Stoutfeets were surprised after listening to the conclusion of the young Holstock's tale. Although reluctant, the giant father wished to congratulate the young man for his resolve. Unfortunately, the said man was not found in the feast, although there was no sign of him leaving the castle. Mabell felt guilty about that, but a much greater emotion was swelling deep inside her heart. Despite of the joy and the merriment that everyone enjoyed in the castle's hall, there was only a person who was more than overjoyed of having the engagement annulled, and that person was Mabell.

She was happy when she pommeled Aurey, she's even happier when her engagement with him was cancelled, and she bet she was the happiest girl in the world when she heard the news of the baron's young son reengagement with his ex-fiancée. The reason behind of her happiness was not on the freedom that she reacquired, but on getting back on the track to be with her crush that was no other than the leader of the Grassywool's troublemaker: Grann Durstin. She could hardly restrain her urge to jump upon the brown haired youth and tell him that she loved him. Little did she know that Grann Durstin had also feelings for her and had his own plan in confessing his feelings to the lovely Mabell.

The moment that the Stoutfeets' worn-down wagon reached Grassywool, Mabell immediately jumped off from it and dashed to the Durstins' residence. Unknown to her, Grann bolted off from the tavern to the Stoutfeet's when he heard from his friend that the Stoutfeets had arrived. It was a hilarious episode of two childhood friends looking for one another, only to be misled and drawn further and further from each other. There were times that they were practically inches away, only to be distracted by neighbors and friends. After hours of running and meeting dead ends, the two youths finally gave up on finding one another and went to the romantic spot under the tree outside the village to lament their rotten luck, and to their astonishment, they finally met under the tree. What came after that long moment of gazing and blushing was simply magic working on its course. The two youth, without uttering a word, rushed to each other side, held tightly to one another and let loose the passion that welled up within them by locking their lips in a long, affectionate kiss. At that moment, they knew they were meant for one another, they needed each other, and they would lay down their lives for one another.

And thus the love story of two village youth turned from budding to blossoming. Although the parents of the young woman would prefer a man with high stature and wealth to ask for the maiden's hand rather than common village boy, they were amazed by the young man's courage and determination. Under the glares of the furious maiden and the familiar charm of boorish but honest youth that reminded him of himself when he was in the same age, the father relented, and soon the mother followed. The youths were ecstatic, but at the same time, conscious about their economic situation. Their families were not wealthy families and they were borderline from poverty. However the youthful man was not a stranger to labor. He had future plans; hopes and dreams with his beloved and if years of hard labor stood between him and his dreams, then he would gladly endure those years. Young Grann who was a rash loudmouth, now a hardworking and tenacious man. He had been saving big part of his wages in hope of acquiring a much bigger farmland for him and Mabell to settle after their future marriage. Mabell who knew his plan, also helped him in raising some money by working in local bakery and clinic. The love-struck and dreams-filled youths busied themselves with works around the lively village. Unknown to them and the villagers, somewhere outside the village, a pair of hungry eyes gazed greedily toward Grassywool.

"Mnhhhmm" the sound of love-filled smooching filled the warm air of the day. The two lovers were busy in expressing their love to one another in the form of snugging and caressing. They were in their lunch break, and they exploited the chance to meet each other in the place where they first confessed their feelings toward one another. Now, the youth made use of the benefit of their easiness to one another. They were lying on the grass; their kiss grew more passionate and the embracing more intense. Their love was in its peak, when suddenly it was interrupted violently by the cracking sound of thunder. As they separated themselves, they looked upon the sky and saw the gathering black clouds that darkened the sky and flashing thunder that accompanied them. The clouds started to amass in whirling formation, creating a vortex of darkness and thunder in its center. It was a menacing omen of disaster. They were overwhelmed by the scene. Then suddenly, fear-stricken awe was broken by the blood-curdling screams. The screams originated from the village, and they are followed by shouts and cries of terror. Fearing for something unknown befell their village, and fearing the safety of their families, the two lovers got to their feet and rushed to Grassywool. While running in dread, they were oblivious to a thing that was jettisoned from the vortex and plummeting to the embracing ground, not far from the lover's previous position.

* * *

The courier was awake, hyperventilated and sweating profusely. He launched his torso up and swung his head wildly, to the left and to the right. _Giant slanting panels of glass that confined the room, several plants in rectangular boxes placed behind each panels of glass, a bookcase on his right and an extensive space with several furnitures on his left, granite colored walls behind him and brown colored ceramic tiles under him; empty bottles of whiskey were lying on the ceramic floor and the odor of alcohol filled the room_. He sighed a relief air, as he found out his bearing. He found himself in the king sized bed in the Lucky 38 penthouse, naked and in a nasty headache.

_That's it. No more whiskey starting from today._

"Stupid dream of stupid medieval ghouls in some stupid vault." The courier cursed in his mind, as he scratched his head.

Bed sheet covered his lower torso and his legs. The sunlight slowly crept into the room, and began to annoy the eyes of the courier. As he began to move away from the bed, a moan was heard beside him. He turned his head to the source of the voice and found a naked woman beside him. She was lying on the bed with her back on the top and her chest pressed down on the mattress under. Her white skin was exposed for the courier to relish. Bed sheet covered her firm and round but cheeks. Her hands rested on the pillow along with her head. Her face looked in his direction, and her eyes were closed. Her disheveled long red curly hair covered most of her face.

John Grimm, the courier, moved his face closer to the woman's and his right hand travelled toward her hair-covered face. He picked up a strand of her hair to his nose and sniffed the sweat-stank hair. Gently, he brushed away the long red hair that covered her face and unveiled the beautiful face of the red haired woman.

She had a face that portrayed the common virtue of American women: slim oval face outline, thick brow, cheeks covered with little spots, sharp nose, and exotic lips. Her blazing red hair only enhanced her already remarkable beauty. The courier managed to catch the smell of whiskey from her mouth. _Well, that's her only flaw, I guess_. The courier leaned his face closer to hers, positioning his mouth just few inches above her uncovered ear. He deliberately breathed out a little puff of air, letting it tickled hear earlobe. She let out a satisfied moan.

"Mornin', my whiskey rose." The courier whispered.

"Mhhhmm, five more minutes, Grimm." Rose of Sharon Cassidy groaned.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy, or widely known as Cass, a merchant-turned-gun slinging warrior of Mojave, was one of the heroes of Mojave that helped New Vegas to achieve independence from the rule of Mr. House, Caesar's legion and the NCR. Fighting side by side with the central figure of the New Vegas' independence, John Grimm, courier number 6 of the Mojave Express, she had proven to be worthy to be one of the courier's confidants. Overcoming battles after battles and adventures after adventures, the courier found Cass to be something more than his friend, and Cass also found him to be more than a good friend and a leader. Yet unsure of their feelings, both of them kept it inside. Following the decisive victory against the legion and the NCR in Hoover Dam, the courier returned to the Lucky 38 penthouse alone to reprogram the securitrons and the protectrons to their new duties in relief effort across the wasteland. Knowing full well that absolute power corrupts absolutely, the courier agreed to leave the control over armies of securitrons and protectrons to be divided among factions the courier is acquainted with: the Followers of the Apocalypse, the Kings, and Yes man. Yet, such division of power was not without a condition that each faction's securitrons and protectrons could only be functional within the boundary of their territories, and outside of their grounds, the automatons would cease to be operational. As the courier entered the penthouse, he was taken by surprise by his friends who arranged a surprise celebration for the independent New Vegas. With the King as the mastermind and Arcade as one of the collaborators, they manage to convince Yes Man to give access for them and other people who were acquainted with the courier to the penthouse; thus these people, including the King and Arcade were able to prepare for the surprise party before the arrival of the courier. It was needless to say that the party was indeed very merry and everyone had a very good time, which in particular because of a little knife throwing contest between Raul and Boone. As the celebration ended and everyone returned to their reserved rooms in Lucky 38 (thanks to Yes Man's thoughtful processor), the courier walked to the penthouse bedroom, only to find that Cass was waiting for him, with a crate full of whiskeys of course. The two began to talk and reminiscence about the adventures that they had undertook in the past, as they shared the drinks. Although she was widely known as "whiskey rose", Cass began to be tipsy and blurted out her deep feelings for the courier. Caught by surprise for the second time, the courier confessed his feelings for her as well. Before he could utter another word, his lips were sealed tight by her warm, whiskey-laced lips, and he was pounced to the bed by the girl. Apparently she had feigned tipsiness, as part of Arcade's elaborate plan to unite the two stubborn gunslingers. The kiss grew more passionate, as both hero and heroine unleashed their most innermost desire to the surface. Love and lust overwhelm their sight and mind, tongues locked in epic battle for dominance, breath of ecstasy flowed out and the rest were history…..

The courier laid his back to the mattress, with his head rested on his hands. Cass opened her eyes and saw the courier's muscular broad chest like a plain ripe for invasion. She crept to his side, with her left hand travelled across his body and finally nestled on the top his right chest. Her head found the desired pillow in the form of his left shoulder, and her bare chest was pressed against the left side of his body. The courier slightly shifted his left arm and wrapped it around the whiskey rose while her head lay down on his shoulder. His right hand enveloped around her waist, as he pulled the woman closer and tighter to his body. Both of them were exchanging body heat to one another.

_I hope this last forever_

"Let's settle down"

"Huh"

"You and me. " Cass said, with her eyes half closed. "We can live together somewhere in the desert."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, maybe not in the desert though." She chuckled. "Too many shitheads."

The courier let out a small laugh. "Yeah, that's true. But you sure you want to live with me?"

"Of course I do." She asserted. "Besides, I love you."

The courier's heart swelled with happiness when he heard those words. He had loved the woman from the moment they raided the Van Graff's store, he loved her still, and would love her forevermore. She had reciprocated his feelings with the same affection that he had for her, he would lay down his life for her, as she had done the same for him. He loved her with his entirety; his body, his heart and his soul.

But, in truth, rose of Sharon Cassidy never said that words.

_Alas, it is a love that will never be…_

In reality, the courier waked up just to find that he was alone in the bed. All she had left was a note under the empty whiskey bottle on the night table.

_She is free-spirited._

_And she will never be mine…_

Like a broken recording, the conversation replayed itself.

"Let's settle down." _Cass will never want to be caged._

"You and me." _Cass is a loner at heart._

"We can live together." _Cass would rather travel alone._

"Besides, I love you." _Cass will never say that words._

"So, what do you say?"

Sadness was clear in his eyes. This was not his memory. He hopes that this was, but it was not to be. He pulled her closer and tighter, until his face was inches away from hers.

"It's alright." The courier replied, a little melancholy in his tone. "But for now, why don't we stay like this a little longer?"

Cass hugged him close. Her head rested in the nook of his neck and her naked body enfolded tightly to his. He secured his hand around her back and behind her head. She purred pleasantly, signifying her approval to his notion.

_She is not Cass_

His lips moved closer to her forehead, and he planted a soft kiss on it.

_But I would love to have Cass like this._

"I love you, Cass."

Then, all was white again.

* * *

The courier opened his eyes. The darkness in his eyes was cleared as faint light entered to his vision. Although his sight was hazy, he could manage to see that the sky was murky. Thankfully, he had not fallen with his face on the ground. Still, his head was aching and his face was stinging; He groaned in pain. He could felt the hard metal protection over his head, the close fitting cover over his face and the firm protective suit all over his body. _Good, at least the helmet, the gasmask, and the armor are still here._ He didn't move; he lay on his back in the ground, letting all the pain to go away.

"Hopefully, there will be no crippled limbs or legs from the fall." He mumbled.

He breathed slowly, the pain subsided, and he felt his strength was returning to his body and his limbs. _Thank God_. Although he was grateful that he didn't suffer any crippling injury, he was quite calm about the risk of getting crippled limbs or legs. His adventures across the wasteland had given him not only valuable experiences in surviving its dangerous environment and wildlife, but also innate strength and abilities to overcome them. His body had developed unusually strong resistance against poison and radiation, and impossibly high durability against any kind of wounds from any kind of weapons. He groaned a little bit more as he pulled his body up, only to be alarmed by a nearby scream. Before he could be on his feet or pulled his gun out, he was already surrounded by several men in strange clothing and armor who were unsheathing their weapons from their scabbards. The melee weapons that the men in strange garbs of cloth and steel wielded were eerily similar to the weapons wielded by the ghouls that he had encountered in the mysterious vault before. Unfortunately, those weapons were all pointed at him.

"Don't move, fiend!" One of the men in strange armor shouted, his tone was full of power and contempt. "Or I will you cut you down."

"Well, Crud."

* * *

Grann Durstin and Mabelline Stoutfeet were about to enjoy the full extent of their love if the strange violent signs of disaster and terrified screams did not happen. Unfortunately, the bad omen and the screams did happen and force them to run back to the village. When they returned, they found out scene of chaos all around the village: people shouting and running to and fro all around the places, women and children crying with tears soaking their faces, men grabbing their wives and children and running toward the exit, and several armor cladded soldiers helping and guiding the people to leave their houses. It was a scene of total confusion to the youths, and fortunately, they were rescued from the mighty yelling of Mabell's father. Although it was in time of great urgency, the father managed to tell the youths concisely about the chaos that was happening in the present. Apparently, a group of the king's knights succeeded in intercepting the rebels' messenger. The message was a request for reinforcement to rebels' headquarters by the infamous mercenary by the name of knight Lautrec of Carim, who led the band of marauding mercenaries. The message also stated that the point of rendezvous would be in the village of Grassywool, where the marauders would first ransacked that small village from its wealth and waited the arrival of the reinforcement. To the horror of the knights, the marauders were already on the move and they were only a day away from the village. The knights dispatched one of their ranks to lead a handful of soldiers to evacuate the villagers, while the rest of them would amassed enough forces to flank the marauders. Now, the said knight and his followers who had arrived to the village earlier, had already explained the purpose of their arrival to the villagers. And as the result, great confusion broke out, as the villagers were running for their lives. Fortunately, the knight and his men were helping in evacuating the people of Grassywool to safety.

Long story short, Grann were able to find his parents after escorting his sweetheart to her father. They too had heard the grave news and already rushed to their home outside the village, where they met their son along the road. Moments later, the Durstins had prepared themselves with essentials and left their house to come together with the refugees.

The refugees, led by their protectors were marching slowly. Most of them were laden with their old and sick. Terror and grief were drawn upon their faces, since they left their homes and their fortunes behind for uncertain future while death was closing from behind. The knight and his soldiers were nervous as well; the enemies outnumbered them by a quite large margin, and although they were seasoned fighters, they were honor-bound to protect the civilians who could not defend themselves. The grim fact that it would be a slaughter if the marauders managed to overtake them haunted their mind, as they kept on pushing the villagers further and further away from the village and into the cast plain ahead of them.

The crowd began to calm down, as they entered the plain and the village had vanished from their sight. The evacuation seemed to be going well when suddenly a village maiden screamed and the crowd began to revert back into terrified mob. The knight and his soldiers rushed to locate the screaming woman and to find out what's the source of her horror. When they arrived, they found something….. or someone with absolutely clear peculiarity all over its body.

It was garbed in most outlandish vestment. Although the long black pants and boots that it sported were quite common among the people, its long black coat was intimidating. Under its coat, the man or thing was wearing some kind of armor with plain but unusual contours over his body, and belt adorned with many fang-like objects around his waist. His hands were shrouded in black gloves. Rested on his right arm was a bizarre gauntlet-like bangle of the same color of his coat, armor and trousers. At the side of his right thigh, there was a big leather pouch that held unknown curved object, and at the side of his left thigh was a big knife, resting in its sheath. The equipment that the thing wore gave out an aura of terror and cold, but the most fearsome sight to behold was the helmet that it donned. Round orb-like covering confined the top of its head. Its fearsome mask that sported fish-like eyes of red color and big protruding tube on its mouth was a face of unknown demon. The soldiers moved closer with their hands on the handle of their swords. Suddenly, the beast awakened, producing unearthly grunt. The knight and his soldiers quickly encircled the beast with swords ready in their hands, pointing at the beast.

"Don't move, fiend!" The knight commanded; authority and disgust in his tone. "Or I will you cut you down."

* * *

The courier, lying on the field of grass and surrounded by armed strange soldiers, fell to realization that this was not Mojave. The lack of dying and cracking soil, the overabundance of grasses, and the cold and damp climate were already hinting him that this place was not a wasteland. And the strange soldiers around him were clearly not NCR soldiers or Caesar's Legionaries or any gang members that he knew.

"What are you, beast? One of the soldiers in elaborate silver and blue armor called. "Are you a man, or are you a demon?"

_Beast? I'll show you beast alright!_

Being in a major disadvantage, the courier decided he should take a more diplomatic solution if he wished to be unscathed from this edgy conversation.

"Easy friend, I am not a monster." The courier replied cordially, assuring tone was strong in his every words. "Would you be kind enough to let me be on my feet?"

"Get up." The knight snarled. "Mark my word, one wrong move, and your life ends here."

The courier rose to his feet. He raised his hands, a gesture of vulnerability and honesty. As he was rising, the crowd around the soldiers gasped as they gazed how the beast stood higher than the knight and his soldier. His most intimidating visage was multiplied when he rose to his feet. The courier paid no attention to them. What's intriguing to him was the soldier in elaborate silver and blue armor that commanded him to stand up. Judging from the weapon and the equipment that he wore, the courier assumed that he must be some kind of an officer, a leader to the soldiers in plain armors and weapons. Although he was well-developed and tall, inches shorter than the courier, the knight's face was rather unusual for a man of his stature. Instead of rough, wide-jawed scowling face, the knight had a rather smooth face with pointed chin. Although he had big wide eyes, typical Caucasian virtue, his rapier-like eyebrows were fine and long. His blonde hair was styled in a ponytail with some hairs, short-trimmed, covered his forehead. Two small bangs of his blonde hair ran from the sides on the top of his ears to his neck. Rather than masculinity, the knight's face exhibited femininity.

"Tell me," The Knight demanded. "What are you?"

"A simple courier."

"Are you mocking me? You don't dress like one!"

"My line of the job is full with dangers, my good sir." Friendliness was still in his tone.

"Really?" The knight mocked. Although he was relieved that the questioned man was not some kind of a demon, he was still suspicious about the man's claim as a messenger. The dark tone of his equipment also resembled with the standard of the rebel's forces. "Tell me, who are you working for?"

"At the moment? No one." The courier answered nonchalantly.

This surprised the knight. He was sure the interrogated man was some kind of soldier, if not a scout of the rebels' forces. He doubted that the man a just a messenger, judging from his armor and weapons. But when he stated that he was not working for any one, it confused him greatly. How could a messenger be unemployed at the moment when the cauldron of war was boiling the fieriest? Envoys and heralds like him, although frail and vulnerable, were essential in gaining support and securing strategic routes from neighboring nobilities. Even though they were faced with dangers of death, people with occupation as messengers could gain profit unimaginable. Then, how could this man, who claimed himself as a courier, be unemployed and lying in the middle of nowhere? Surely he must be jesting, or worse, lying in the broad daylight!

But still, he was showing no reluctance in answering the questions. He was not exhibiting aggression or violent behavior, as the man's gesture of raising his hands was clearly showing that he was not dangerous. His tone was honest and friendly, as if he was trying to charm him with his words.

"Are those your weapons?" The knight pointed the courier's holster and knife with his sword.

"Yes, they are." _Oh Crud!_

"Hand it over."

The courier's body tensed and the knight realized it. He smirked as the interrogated "courier" was showing rigid nervousness. Finally, he got to peel the mask of the mysterious messenger. He signaled his men to come closer to the "courier" when suddenly, a faint sound of horse galloping was heard and a shriek assaulted his ear drums.

"MARAUDERS!"

And chaos fell once again.

* * *

"Curses!" The knight spat. He was too absorbed with interrogating the unknown man that he didn't realize the incoming bandits. They must have reached the village, only to find it was totally deserted, denying them from their filled of slaughter and raping. Unfortunately, knowing that the evacuating villagers tended to be slow, the bandits were only yards away from the terrified villagers and their saviors.

Screams of terror echoed and people began to weep in despair. The knight, clenched his sword tightly, stepped forward to the direction of the incoming marauders and yelled. His booming voice drowned the weeping and the screaming.

"People! Leave your belongings and run to the north!" The knight shouted, as he pointed his sword to the empty horizon of the plain, the opposite direction from the ever nearing clouds of dust. "Run and never look back! I, knight Bedivere, am sworn to protect you, and I will drive the enemies away! Run to the north! The Camelot is just over there!"

The people began to regain their composure, and they started to flee.

"MEN! On me!" The knight shouted, and his men surrounding the nervous courier, dispersed and rallied to the knight.

* * *

The courier was alone once again. He was glad that he was still alive. He was even gladder that he could keep his gun and knife. Yet, something was eating inside of him. _Why do I feel terrible?_

He was free. He could go wherever he wished to. Even though this was not Mojave, he could explore new lands and maybe along the way, found a way to return home. Yet, something sharp was stabbing inside of him.

_Why do I feel bad?_

He saw the fleeing villagers. All of them were running in disorder manner. Sick and old folks, and women carrying babes in arms were lagging behind, while the healthy and the youthful were running ahead of them. _They will be overtaken, that's for sure_. What comes next, will be bloody nasty to these poor souls.

This was not his damn business. He began to walk to the other side. Then he saw two youths running for their lives while holding each other in their arms. "They must be lovers." The courier thought to himself. The woman stumbled on the ground and the man helped her to get back on her feet. Unfortunately, she was limping. "She has sprained her ankle." The courier continued in his mind. The man picked the woman onto his back, and he began to run burdened to the distance. _They too, will be overtaken._

_They will be captured._

_The boy will be killed, or worse, held barely alive to see his lover being raped over and over again._

_The boy will fight back, he will die._

_The girl will weep, and she too, will die._

"Dammit."

_Never again._

He had witnessed the atrocities that the powder gangers had done to an unsuspecting village in the desert.

_Never again. _

He had witnessed the atrocities that the legionnaires had perpetrated in a small town of Nipton. Although the bandits hiding there had it coming for them, he couldn't stand the cruelties they had unleashed upon innocent women and child.

_NEVER AGAIN_

And he had witnessed the trail of blood along Lanius' path of conquest, the bomb-fixed slaves in the fort, and the agonizing death on the cross and in the coliseum.

"Not in my fucking life." The courier snarled.

The courier reached his rucksack. He produced a minigun of red and black color scheme. He loaded it with the ammunition cartridge of 5mm armor piercing round. Holding the CZ57 Avenger's dual handle firmly in both of his hands, he walked to the direction of the knight and his soldiers.

* * *

Bedivere was troubled. He had assured the people to run for their lives. Unfortunately, he hadn't assured their lives. As honor-bound warrior, he was ready to forfeit his life in battle for the king and the people. But now, he was going to fight a suicidal battle with no chance for the people that he had sworn to protect, to survive. He felt despair, as he had failed to honor his duty. Still if he was to fail and fall, he will bring as many bandits as possible with his blade to their death.

He looked upon his men on his left and his right. All of them were nervous and scared, but none of them were retreating. He was proud. These people were fine gentlemen, and he was not ashamed to die alongside with these people.

"This is it, men!" Bedivere bolstered the morale of his men. "For the glory of our king and Camelot!"

And then, he was pushed aside.

The mysterious man that he had interrogated pushed him aside, as he walked through them, holding a bizarre metal box with several long slender tubes set in a fixed order, protruding in front of it. The messenger walked ahead of them and stopped.

"What are you thin-" Bedivere scolded despite of her confusion, only to be stopped by a raising hand from the mysterious courier, a gesture to keep quiet. The gathering clouds of dust and the thundering sound of hooves trampling the earth were getting nearer.

* * *

The courier saw the nearing bandits, he could see melee weapons flashing above their heads. They were ready for the kill. _And so am I._

He turned to his pip-boy, and began to tap some buttons. During his adventure across the desert, he had found a strange device that contained numerous tunes from unknown origin that somehow when listened, could give an uplifting and stat-boosting effect for a time. Thanks to it, he could finally find an alternative way to boost his stats during a battle without resorting to drugs and chems. With the help of Arcade and his friends, as well as his skill in rigging devices, the tunes were successfully downloaded to his pip-boy, and he could patched them to receiver that was installed in his helm. _Thank you, I-Pod, whoever or whatever you are._

He selected a tune with the title "Have a Nice Day-by Bon Jovi" in his pip-boy. The music began to flow into his ears, and he opened fire.

_**Why, you wanna tell me how to live my life?**_

Bullets flied away from the barrels and tore through iron plates and flesh alike.

_**Who, are you to tell me if it's black or white?**_

Screams of pain echoed, as shredded fleshes, be them from men or beasts, floated through the air.

_**Mama, can you hear me? Try to understand.  
Is innocence the difference between a boy and a man?  
My daddy lived the lie, that's just the price that he paid  
Sacrificed his life, just slavin' away.  
**__  
__**Ohhh, if there's one thing I hang onto,**_

Sparks of light that were produced from the gunpowder, flashed the courier's googles.

_**That gets me through the night.  
I ain't gonna do what I don't want to,**_

_**I'm gonna live my life.**_

Corpses and body parts began to fall like rainwater. The tingling sound of empty shells falling to the ground rang like bells.

_**Shining like a diamond, rolling with the dice,**_

The courier unleashed the unrelenting rain of fury to his left and right

_**Standing on the ledge, I show the wind how to fly.  
When the world gets in my face,  
I say, Have A Nice Day.  
Have A Nice Day**_

Every bandits and their horses was no longer standing, and the whizzing sound produced from the minigun stopped.

_**Take a look around you; nothing's what it seems  
**_The courier loaded another ammunition cartridge to the the minigun's bullet compartment.

_**We're living in the broken home of hopes and dreams,  
**_Some lucky and barely alive bandits who were missing some body parts groaned, as they tried to get up.

_**Let me be the first to shake a helping hand.**_

The courier noticed it, and he pressed the trigger hard. The whizzing sound returned

_**Anybody brave enough to take a stand,**_

The unrelenting rain of furious penetrating metals returned.

_**I've knocked on every door, on every dead end street,  
Looking for forgiveness,  
what's left to believe?**_

And body parts: heads, limbs and legs , were once again dancing in the air

_**Ohhh, if there's one thing I hang onto,**_  
_**That gets me through the night.**_  
_**I ain't gonna do what I don't want to,**_  
_**I'm gonna live my life.**_  
_**Shining like a diamond, rolling with the dice,**_  
_**Standing on the ledge, I show the wind how to fly.**_  
_**When the world gets in my face,**_  
_**I say, Have A Nice Day.**_  
_**Have A Nice Day.**_

Bloody mess of flesh and blood were found on the ground where the bandits previously located.

The music kept on playing. Among the mounds of unrecognizable pieces of body parts and pool of blood, a knight in unusual golden armor stood up, brandishing twin peculiar curved swords.

"I challenge you in a honorable duel, you lowly mongrel!" the knight roared.

The courier then moved a hand into his pocket of his coat. He produced a long red stick with a short rope on it. He began to lit up the tip of the rope with fire, and lobbed it to the knight. It landed right under him.

"What is this? A Cowardly jest? You think a twig can stop m-" Hi words were cut short by an explosion. Ball of fire and smoke engulfed the challenging knight, while roaring a thunderous sound. When the smoke subsided and the fire died, chuncks of metals and fleshes fell from the sky.

_**When The world keeps trying, to drag me down,  
I gotta raise my hands, I'm gonna stand my ground.  
Well I say, Have A Nice Day.  
Have A Nice Day  
Have A Nice Day**_

The music ended. The courier turned his back to the knight and his soldiers whose jaws had fallen and their unclosed mouths were gaping wide. As he walked to the direction of his interrogators, the knight softly spoke.

"What are you?"

* * *

**This chapter is a tribute to Jon Bon Jovi.**


	4. Chapter 2A Lone Guitarist in Britannia

**Things to remember (again):**

**-. Sorry for being late, friends. Computer's been acting again.**

**-. Still do not own Fall Out and Fate/ Stay Night.**

**-. Love both the game and the anime, so I made this story (I consider this to be a very strange DLC for New Vegas)**

**-. The vault from previous chapter? Not Vault 22, just somekind a mysterious vault.**

**-. Feeling that the courier a little bit different? Well, I played New Vegas in PC ( and you know what you can do while playing New Vegas in PC) and I played it with mods as well. Thousand apologies if it didn't suite your taste.**

**-. Music, glorious music forever!**

**-. Thank you very much for your awesome reviews, friends.**

**-. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 2A: ****A Lone Guitarist in Britannia****.**

The cheerful chirping of the sparrows echoed throughout the sunny air of small village of Grassywool. The sweet smell of the late spring still lingered around, intoxicating every living and breathing under the bright blue sky. There was an air of relief and delight, breezing all over the place. The warm embrace of the sun caressed not only the pale complexions of Grassywool's denizens, giving color to their faces, but also touched their souls, uplifting their spirits. As the sun always rises after the dark night, so does the bright future brimming of hope and life after the terror and despair. It was another morning in the said village, yet everyone seemed to be more boisterous and determined from their usual fashion in dealing daily business.

The peaceful sound of minor trades had been replaced with the bustling clatter of repairing and rebuilding. Men walked back and forth, lifting heavy wooden beams and sacks on their shoulders, while children scuttled around them, carrying hammers and shovels for the adults. Some men were tearing down destroyed walls, some men were clearing out rubbles and ruins, and some were sitting on the rooftop while fixing tiles on the roof. While men excelled in heavy labor department, the women shone in a much different areas. The women, both young and old, were toiling in providing meals for every villagers and medications for the old and sick. Apparently, during the raiding and ransacking, some houses and shacks had not been fortunate enough to be spared from the wrath of the marauders. Although most of the buildings were intact and only a few suffered some serious interior damage, a handful of houses were burnt to the ground. Fortunately, the local parish provided temporary shelter for those who lost their homes for indefinite period of time and the Grassywool's residents were more than willing to help their fellow neighbors. Those simple commoners were weary, but happy.

Bedivere, together with some soldiers from his unit, had just finished their patrol for the morning round. Two nights had passed peacefully since the marauders raided the village. They were pacing toward the small community kitchen that had been set up next to the local parish. A short queue of people were already lining in front of the small stall, waiting for the daily providing of meal. Despite the knight and his men were higher in ranks than the commoners, and the queuing villagers' insistence to cut the line, Bedivere and his men kept their line after gratefully declined the kind villagers' offer. They had passed another night unperturbed, all thanks to the knight and his soldiers' vigilant watch. Thankfully, no enemies' scouts or soldiers were sighted as well.

Bedivere was deep in thought while standing in his line. He was troubled on what had transpired in a day before. Indeed, a day had passed rather peacefully after the courier's meddling. The witnessing villagers, although wary of his otherworldly power, was utterly grateful for his action. In the same evening, the courier was already hailed as a hero by the people. Still, the knight was completely distrustful to the so-called "hero". Bedivere felt his goose bumps rose when he remembered the courier's reply to his question after the one-sided battle.

"_Just a simple courier, and like every other courier, I deliver." His cold and grim voice sounded so unnatural, unlike the sound of men or beasts._

"_And what do you deliver, master courier?"_

_After looking back to the spot where the mounds of flesh and pool of blood were, the courier turned to the knight, his dead cold crimson gaze penetrated deep into his soul._

"_Death" the unholy voice returned. "And desolation."_

Those words reverberated in his mind, sending chills to his spine. Million questions popped out in his brain. How could a simple messenger have the power to slaughter twenty mounted raiders, armed from teeth to toe? What was the infernal contraption that he used to unleash the "rain of fire" against the bandits? More importantly, who or what is he? He could not be just a simple courier as he claimed himself to be. He had suspected that the man must be one of the fabled southern barbarians that the adventurers and the seafarers had told about. The descriptions fitted the enigmatic messenger strongly; outlandish clothing and armor, odd accent in spoken English, and the air of unfamiliarity that he emitted. However, after witnessing the might of the unworldly "weapon" that the courier wielded, the knight was not so sure that the courier was even a human being. "Are you a human? Or are you a demon, dressed in a human skin?" His first question to the courier when encountering him for the first time rang in his mind once again.

He was broken off from his reverie when a voice calling out his name was heard.

"Yo, Bedivere!" the jolly voice rang. "Waiting for breakfast?"

The knight turned his head and jumped. The source of his headache suddenly manifested right beside him. This time, the courier, who had introduced himself as John Grimm, was stripped from his long black coat, his armor and his bizarre helmet. He kept his trousers and his boots. He wore a black sleeveless tight suit on his torso, revealing the muscles outline of his body. His short unkempt hair of onyx was drenched in sweat, and so was his face. His face had the similar characteristic of common Saxons; big jaw, sharp wide eyes, big slightly crooked nose, vast temple and short fuzz below his nose and on his chin. Yet, somehow they felt so cold and distant. Although he smiled from time to time, his hard expression was as lifeless as a tomb. His hollow ebony eyes seemed to peer into the soul of the knight when their eyes met. The ominous aura that enveloped him was rich and heavy.

"Ah, Master Grimm." Bedivere politely responded. "Forgive my pensiveness; I didn't realize that you're coming."

"Well." The courier scratched the back of his head. "I get that a lot."

"So, you are craving for breakfast as well?" The knight smirked at his awkwardness. It was unexpected behavior, yet amusing to look at.

"Nah, I already ate along the way." The courier informed him. He looked at the line. "Today's menu is potato casserole, courtesy of the young Miss Stoutfeet."

"How do you know?"

"I helped the young lady peeling off the potato skins." The man replied nonchalantly.

"I…see."

The man surprised him greatly. He never knew the courier was a quite an honorable man. The concept of humility, even though was taught to everyone from the highborn to the lowborn, was a rare attitude to be applied into action by the majority of the people. The greater power or influence a person wielded the scarcer charities such person donated. Bedivere considered himself to be one of the rare cases. He didn't think twice in lending a hand to whoever required it, regardless of rank and wealth. It was his inborn character, although his code of chivalry required him to do so. He had assumed that such concept was alien for the courier. Yet, to his surprise, the courier was not a stranger to such notion. He was more than willing to toil alongside the people, regardless how dirty, heavy or low the tasks might be. He did them all without complaint. Even though he was wary of the courier's motivation, his sincere action won the knight over. He was impressed by the man's humbleness and diligence.

"So where are you going now?" the knight questioned the man.

"I am going to the physician."

"You got yourselves hurt?"

"No, I have promised the old physician to help her today."

The food stall opened its veiled window. The old lady of the community kitchen banged the iron kettle with her ladle, signaling the morning meal was ready to be served. The queue began to move forward.

"I guess I will be seeing you later then." The courier said.

"I bid you farewell, Master Grimm." The knight nodded his head. The courier responded his gesture with a nod, and walked away from the gathering crowd. The knight's gaze followed him as he went away.

"He was a strange one, indeed."

The man would possibly be burned at the stake for his carelessness in using his alien weapons, if Bedivere had not interfered. Although he hated to resort to lies and deceits, Bedivere was forced to concoct a made-up story in order to save the mysterious "courier" that he barely knew at all. In the end, he managed to save the mysterious man from the mob, and as the reward, the grateful man told him a little bit information about himself. He learnt from the little information he obtained that the courier, whose name was John Grimm, was indeed in fact a simple courier who pleasantly happened to be a jack-of-all-trades as well. He hailed from the land of Mojave, an unheard kingdom in the continent of America. He claimed that his bizarre weapons were not magical items; instead, they were products of technology and science. The knight was obviously confused at the statement and the words that he heard from the courier. _Mojave? America? Science and Technology? What are those things?_ The courier had noticed his confusion, and ended his explanation to the knight immediately, stopping the knight from getting more information about the courier. Although only in a small amoutn, the information he obained from the mysterious stranger had helped Bedivere to grab a simple truth about the man: That he was a total alien in the land of Britannia.

"Ser Bedivere!"

The knight was once again interrupted in his trail of thought. He turned to the side where the call was originated. He saw a young man, donned in light leather armor, ran up to him. The man was a soldier from his unit that he had assigned as a runner to the local Baron shortly after the reoccupation of the village. The young man had returned unharmed. "Good, it means he has not encountered any enemy forces along the way." The knight said in his mind. The man was the youngest of all his men, but also the smartest and fleetest man in the unit, so the position that he had assigned to the young lad was indeed a very good choice.

"Ah, Rinc!" The knight exclaimed. "What news, my good lad?"

"Good news, ser!" The runner said while panting. "Ser Lancelot and the others were there."

"Were? What do you mean by 'were'?" The knight questioned, his tone was a surprised one.

"They set off for Camelot this morning." The runner replied. "And they requested for your return as soon as possible too, Ser."

"I see." Bedivere nodded. "And what did you tell them about our 'guest'?"

"I told them what you wanted me to tell them, Ser."

"Good lad!" Bedivere praised, as he placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "Now, get yourselves some food." Bedivere ordered, leaving his line for the young man to take.

"Thank you, ser, but I have already eaten." The runner respectfully declined. "I still have tasks that I have to attend to, and by your permission; I will go to see them through."

"Carry on, lad."

"Thank you, ser." The runner went off to the other side of the village.

Bedivere smiled at the young man's tenacity. That man certainly had earned his place in his unit, and he was proud of him. He was even happier that after concluding his business in Grassywool, he would return to his beloved Camelot. All of the sudden, an idea popped out from his mind and his smile grew wider. He turned his gaze to the direction where the courier was heading and said, "He could be useful for our cause."

The courier was already disappeared.

* * *

The courier trod the bustling dirt road alone, but he was not lonesome. Friendly calls and shouts from the villagers were heard along the way. He liked it. The same scene of happy and friendly neighbors calling out to him was happening once more. He felt welcomed, like the times he was in Goodsprings and Jacobstown. The smiling faces and friendly slaps on his back greeted him wherever he passed a group of people. "This is good." He thought to himself.

Previously, those people were scared of him. It was to be expected. His marauders slaughter had not been witnessed only by the knight and his soldiers, but also by the fleeing villagers. Their feet froze and their eyes fixed on the otherworldly scene that was happening that day. They were wary of his power, of his alien weapon.

_He turned around, finding that the knight who called himself "Bedivere" and his men with mouth gaping wide. He chuckled at the sight. He walked back to the direction of the knight and his men while deftly detaching parts of the Avenger minigun and stored them back to his rucksack. He was unsure whether those warriors were flabbergasted by his weapon, his handiwork or his skill in separating parts of his weapon and storing them into a small rucksack. Still, those things were not so special; they were simply items and expertise that he obtained during his quest. As he passed that group of stunned soldiers, the knight murmured._

"_What are you?"_

_The courier turned and stared him deep in the eyes. Those ebony irises were glinting dim light._

"_Just a simple courier, and like every other courier, I deliver." The courier replied. His voice was breaking inside the gas mask, producing a guttural voice of metal and wind._

"_And what do you deliver, master courier?"_

_He turned his face to look at his handiwork. It was truly a bloody mess. After surveying it for few seconds, he turned back to gaze the knight and said few words that represented his main business._

"_Death," He sighed. "And desolation."_

_The knight's pupils and irises swelled when he heard those words. The courier didn't care. He heard a cracking sound of a thunder and felt the coldness from the raindrops that poured down on his coat and helmet. He returned to his previous direction and walked, leaving behind the dazed warriors behind. Mild rain fell as he walked to the direction of the small village that was visible in his eyes. Before long, he noticed black cloud of smoke was rising from the village. "Typical bandits." He growled in his heart. Apparently, some of the marauders stayed behind to "secure" the village. Luckily, the rain hampered the arsons, which was confirmed by the white smoke following the previous black smoke, indicating the dead flame. He unholstered his ranger sequoia, checked its bullets chamber and found only two .45-70 Gov't hollow points were remaining. He put his free hand to his side pocket and pulled out three unused bullets. He swiftly loaded the bullets into the empty chambers and locked the cylindrical compartment into the gun, while keeping his pace toward the village. Arrived at the entrance of the village, the courier cocked down his revolver and entered._

_As he entered the village, he saw scattered and butchered livestocks around. He also saw burnt down ruins and half-burnt houses in in some places along the road. Although the small village stood, it still suffered considerable damage. He reached the center of the village, and there he found few soldiers in the same armors and weapons with the bandits that he had plowed with the minigun. They were busying themselves with loading their loots onto their horses that they failed to notice his existence. "Good." Was the only thought the courier had in his mind. He counted the bandits in his radar, only seven were staying behind for the looting. "Even better." The thought changed. He took aim to one of the bandit. One of them noticed him, and before he could alerted his friends, the courier opened fire. A flash of light sparked and shot rang out. it broke the bandits from their activity._

_The bandits were stunned after witnessing their comrade's head burst out into million pieces like a tomato squashed with an invisible hammer, showering them with the unfortunate man's blood, brain matters and small chunks of his skull. Before their mind could react on the said happening and administered proper command to their bodies, two more cracking sounds were heard and two more heads were popped open in the same horrible fashion. The remaining bandits soon realized the presence of a man, garbed in a very unusual fashion, wielding a strange curved wand that was aimed at them. A burly bandit quickly jumped onto a horse and charged at the strange assailant, flailing his massive axe above his head. Before he could reached his target, the unknown man produced a flare from the tip of his wand with another loud cracking, and in an instance, a large sound of clang and thud was heard along with the frightened neighs of the bandit's steed. The giant bandit had fallen, with his head completely removed from his neck, as if an invisible sword had cleaved the spot where they were previously connected. _

_Three bandits were left. One of them, already mounted, decided that fighting the stranger was a folly since he easily killed their strongest like a flea. He hastily turned his steed around and began to flee. However, it was all for naught, as another booming sound was produced. This time, the fleeing bandit found a large hole, as big as an apple, on his chest. Blood began to run from his mouth and nostrils, and after staggering for a second, he fell from his running mount._

_The two remaining bandits were fearful. Their blood froze and their heart wrenched. Although their weapons, a mace and a sword were ready and steady in their grip, they hesitated to attack in fear of being killed by the stranger's invisible spells. Both attacking and fleeing had resulted in death by the power of the strange wand. As long as wand was present, their lives were at the mercy of the stranger. And then, an unexpected thing happened. The stranger put down his wand and put it into a big pocket on his right thigh. The stranger then pull out a jagged knife from its sheath on the man's left thigh. He put himself into a battle stance, ready to fight._

_The bandits exhaled a relief sigh. With the wand out from the battle, their chance of survival increased, and it increased tenfold with the stranger challenging them with a mere knife. It was indeed a very big knife, but it was lacking in terms of power and hitting range compared to a mace and a sword. Besides, what could a puny knife do to an armored fighter? The mace-wielding bandit charged toward the stranger, lifting his spiked mace with both of his hands above his head and shouting a battle cry. He had a stunning advantage in terms of strength, range and protection. He swooped down his mace, intending to break the skull of the stranger. Unfortunately, it never reached its target, as the stranger sidestepped the attack. The bandit and his mace passed the stranger harmlessly. In a lightning fast movement, the stranger swept his leg, kicking the bandit from balance and made him fell onto his back. Continuing from the leg sweeping, the stranger deftly reversed his grip on the knife and with great force, he plunged the knife into the bandit's throat. The exposed and unprotected neck received the sharp end of the jagged blade and upon its entrance; it produced a loud revolting sound of metal severing bone and sinew, loud enough for the last bandit to hear. The body shuddered then it laid lifeless on the dirt._

_The last bandit lost his remaining courage as he watched his friend died horribly in the hand of a demon incarnate. The stranger dressed in black coat removed his embedded blade in disturbing manner, producing another revolting sound of metal being forcefully pulled from flesh. The bandit dropped his sword and ran to the nearby narrow passage between buildings to flee for his life._

_The courier smiled beneath his gas mask. After wiping the blood from his blade with the dead bandit's cloak, he rose to his feet and gave chase to the running enemy. The hunt is on!_

_Before long, a blood-curdling scream was heard by the returning villagers and their defenders, who were aghast to find corpses of bandits across the street. _

_The courier was later found sitting down in front of the local parish, cleaning things that was assumed to be part of his weapon. _

The courier was almost accused of witchcraft and heresy for his weapon and his explanation about it and would most likely to be burned on stake by the mob if Bedivere had not interfered. The knight had vouched the people that the courier was a messenger from the barbaric southern nation beyond the sea, bearing message of support to the king of Camelot. The courier wasted no chance in saving his life without shedding blood. He tactfully played along with Bedivere's story, adding some made-up stories about his origins and his coming to this land. Thankfully, the people were bought with the stories fabricated by Bedivere and the courier's silver tongue. Now, he was known as John Grimm, the messenger of the barbaric king Elvis Aaron Presley, ruler of the Vegas, the kingdom beyond the sea. And before long, he was already hailed by the people as a hero as well.

His life was saved, all thanks to Bedivere lies although his skill of speech had a part in it as well. As a sign of gratitude, he gave a little information about himself: his name, his occupation, and the place where he came from. He also unveiled a bit fact about his weapons, that their origins were from science and technology, not some mumbo-jumbo craps like 'magic' that the knight kept on saying. He explained to him patiently and honestly, yet he noticed confusion in his face as clear as water. He felt that his explanation would not do any good any longer to the knight and he stopped the explanation, despite of the knight's protest. He had assumed from his conversation with the knight that these people of Grassywool including Bedivere were the people that were cut off from the rest of the civilization that he had heard from travelers and merchants. He had never thought that the strange happening in the mysterious vault resulted in him being thrown into a backwater area far from Mojave. The knight and the villagers that he conversed kept on saying that the land's name was Britannia. However, the courier was sure that it was just another zone in the continent of America, although his pipboy could not pinpoint his exact location. _At least, I was in America, right?_ He lighlty tapped his boy with his index finger, assuming that it might be slightly faulty after the fall. He really wished that he could find a way to return to New Vegas. Yet, under the present circumstances, he should mingle with these people for a time until he found a way back.

The courier then began his life as a messenger of a fictional king from a fake country. Most of the people had accepted and believed the "truth" of his origins. Still, looks of fear and suspicion were directed to him. The courier was not a stranger to those things. He remembered the time when he arrived into new towns or some communities during his adventure. He remembered how the people look at him warily like he was some kind of a dangerous stranger.

Fortunately, they all changed for the better when he took odd jobs there to improve their lives. Still, doing those odd jobs affected not only the lives of the people that he helped, but also the lives of other people. Sometimes, he had to make others' lives quite miserable for getting the jobs done, mostly involved in the lives of some legionnaires and wasteland gangers. His reputation grew for most towns and communities throughout Mojave, both negatively and positively. Based on that experience, he knew that the way to win the heart of the people is by helping them, and it was proven to be true with the villagers of Grassywool.

Although they were scared, the villagers were also very grateful to him. After he had shown his humility and sincerity by helping them with many odd jobs (which he finished in much greater speed and efficiency, thanks to his superior knowledge), the people began to accept him warmly, not just as their hero, but also as one of them as well. One time, after helping the local blacksmith in fixing his cart, the courier was bear-hugged by the grateful blacksmith who kept on saying that he was a true hero. The blacksmith was first from the many who hailed the courier as a hero. He had kept on thanking him whenever they met, calling the courier as his family's benefactor for saving the life of his wife and daughters and also his future son-in-law. The courier had though that such gesture was too far-fetched, but he didn't mind. The blacksmith reminded him of Marcus and his super mutant kinsmen, especially that bone-wrenching bear hug. Aside of that, warm kisses on the cheek, friendly pats in the back and playful pokes on the rib from other villagers were some of the things that the courier received on daily basis.

And he didn't mind them all.

In fact, he loved to be recognized, to be accepted. I t gave a warm feeling inside him despite of the usual coldness that he bore all the time.

It's a truth the courier was a loner that preferred to be in solitude rather than in a crowd. Life in the hostile irradiated wasteland of Mojave, added with his occupation as a deliveryman, had made the courier to be a mistrustful person. Life in the world that was merely a shadow of its past had stripped most people of the planet from their morality and sanity, and the courier was not excluded from it. Although he was not on the surface when the "great fire" scorched the world for years, he still lived like those who survived the horror of the surface world. He saw other people merely as objects, exploitable and disposable. Even though he took a job as a courier, he still lived by the code of cold logic and cruel efficiency in a world where the most basic resources were horribly scarce and most people were killing one another just to get a sip of water. He avoided large crowd and kept his companion, if any, in arm's length. He did so to avoid being the one on the opposite side of the gun's muzzle. He kept on living with the same code, until one day he made a mistake; he took that fateful job for Mr. House and then, he met Benny.

His life changed in an instant after his resurrection. Although he was bent on vengeance, his quest for retribution had put him in places and positions he was never thought to be before. In the course of his quest, his choices and actions had affected many lives and he had learnt a great deal of valuable lessons from them. Those experiences had changed his personality and from them, he began to made acquaintances with some unique individuals in the wasteland. He began to see people not as objects, but as fellow human beings. He learnt to respect his companions and cherish such companionship with fierce loyalty. In return, he won their respect as well. He remembered the time when he and his companions fought side by side in Hoover Dam. Boone's near impeccable marksmanship, Raul's ghoulish gun slinging, Cass' ferocity with shotguns and Arcade's terrifying enclave-tech weapons; they all had saved his life so many times that he lost count. In the end, the courier, although he still walked a lonesome road, he found himself to be a much different man. He found love for the people and he found respect and acceptance from them. He was accepted, he was wanted, and he was loved, all thanks to the bullet in his head. The courier laughed inwardly to the irony

Pushing those thoughts deep into the corner of his brain, He quickened his pace to the healer's shop. Surely his knowledge in medicines and skills in healing would be severely wanted by the doctor and her patients!

* * *

The bright sun finally declined from its seat above the sky and soon sank deep into the horizon. Before long, the black veil of night descended into the sky and replaced the azure turned auburn heavens with its dark shroud. From the center of the vast darkness of the night, the argent light of the moon shone brightly like a single lamp in a dark room. Along with the moon, little twinkling stars like diamonds adorned the black canvas of the night, providing dim illumination to the dark earth.

The night had descended, and beasts of the wild had returned to their dwelling. It was the time for resting, the time to find respite after a day of hard work. But for the people of the Grassywool, It was the time for the postponed celebration.

After the courier's intervention in eliminating the marauders and also his help in cleaning the village from other marauders who stayed behind to loot and torch the houses, the villagers had decided that efforts for rebuilding the destroyed and fixing the damaged should be prioritized rather than holding a celebration. Although the renovation and the recovery of the village were simply half done, the villagers could barely hold their craving for merry-making anymore. And so, on that night, in an outskirt just outside the village, a celebration was held.

A large bonfire was erected at the center of the festivity. A mighty feast was set, all thanks to the culinary experts that the village possessed. The sound of lyres, drums, lutes and flutes mingle harmoniously, creating a melody pleasing to every ear that listened to such tune. The young swayed their body, letting themselves to be lost in the music, while the old stomp their feet and clapped their hands in happiness. Rich and pungent aroma from the roasting boar and hot freshly baked pies filled the air. Barrels after barrels of ale were rolled out and opened, providing the sweet intoxicating booze to both the drunkard and the sober. Soon, the sound of laughter, singing and merry-making combined into a chaotic but joyful chorus that broke the silence of the night.

It was a festival of thanksgiving, a celebration of gratitude. The villagers were grateful for their loved ones. They were grateful for the nourishment that they had and grateful for the help they had received from their kindly neighbors. They were grateful for every breath that they had taken for granted in each passing moment. And most importantly, they were grateful for the Maker's deliverance in the form of their defenders.

After being pushed and dragged from the healer's shop by the villagers, the courier, being a classic introvert, was bashful when he was declared as one of the honored guests, along with Bedivere and his men. He took a meaningful glare to Bedivere, hoping that he would help him in this situation. Unfortunately, Bedivere purposely turned his face away from him, letting him to be at the mercy of the villagers. The courier was aghast. He was extremely flushed when he was offered a dance from one of the village maidens. He finally took the offer after he was dragged by the three young and lovely ladies to the dancing ground. At first, he was stumbling and dancing awkwardly, creating roars of laughter from the spectators. Even Bedivere chuckled at his clumsiness. Then, after few moves and correction, he began to dance properly, amazing the maidens with his graceful steps and elegant stomps. After the dance he was pulled by the men to partake the feast on the long table, sampling every foods and ales provided before him. Soon, he joined the laughing, swearing, singing, dancing and other merry-making along with the villagers.

As the night grew, the festivity kept on going, until the vigorous foot stomping music turned to the soft romantic melody. Couples and lovers danced a slow but tender dance on the dancing ground. The loud crowd was transformed into silent spectators who sat around the dancing ground and hummed alongside the melodious tune. Those who didn't dance embraced their loved ones while sitting and humming around it. After the music ended, a musician holding a lute stepped forward and called for the courier to play a song from his land.

"Sir Grimm, please play one of your folksongs to us." The bard requested.

"Eh? Please, friend, Grimm is fine. No need for 'sirs'." The courier replied. "I would love to, but unfortunately, I don't know any songs, friend." The courier politely declined.

"Hmmm, to me, it seems you are lying, my good fellow." The bard said. "Isn't it right, folks?" He exclaimed to the spectators.

The people began to jeer, and the courier was embarrassed. The bard then jokingly began to chant 'Lying' with loud voice and the people followed him. The courier chuckled at the musician antics, but he relented nevertheless.

"Okay, okay, you win folks." He said in amused tone. "I will play for you the song of my people."

The crowds cheered and applauded. The bard handed his lute to the courier, but he declined.

"I brought my own musical instrument, friend." He said as he walked to the center of the ground.

The courier opened his rucksack and pulled out some items from it. He swiftly and skillfully combined the items into an instrument that was similar to a lute, but bigger and had a curvier body.

"This is a musical instrument from my land." The courier said reassuringly. "It is nearly the same with you lute."

"What is it called, mister?" A little child asked.

"I was called 'guitar'."

"Ge-thar?" The spectators repeated the word in their mouth

"Yes, guitar." The courier said as he began picking the strings and played the music he had learned from Raul. "And, this is a song that I learned from a man called 'El Cucuy'."

**(Insert "El Mariachi" by Robert Rodriguez, from "Once Upon a Time in Mexico Original Soundtrack")**

He picked the strings gracefully and slowly. The music slowly poured out from the instrument. First it went slowly and then the melodious pitches rose in certain tempo. The tones kept on the same height and finally they dropped orderly. The same pattern of the rising and dropping of the melodious tones kept on going at the same pace, creating a bittersweet tune that with each melancholic ascending and descending portrayed loneliness of its performer, his memories of better times and his longing for those times to return to him.

The spectators were silent. They sit and listened attentively, letting themselves to be drowned by the rich emotion that was contained within the song. It was a strange song indeed, no words and only tunes. Yet, it bore a powerful atmosphere that made up for its lack of words. The wordless song kept on going, silencing every voice until the only thing that broke the silence of the night were the slow cracking flames from the bonfire and the sad tune that the courier played.

The music finally reached it zenith and descended slowly. More tones rose again for a short time before it dropped as if it resisted ending. And yet it was dying. Each tone was getting slower and slower, and finally it ended.

The courier stared at the spectators. All eyes fixed on him yet no one spoke a word. He bowed his and he walked away with his guitar from the center of the ground. The bard took the courier's place in the center of the ground and began to play a heart lifting song. The crowd began to cheer once again, and the merry-making resumed.

The courier made his way to the long table. He picked up a mug and sit at the long bench alone. He was a little disappointed, but it was expected. _I should not play such sad tune in this joyous festivity_. "Serves you right, Grimm." He muttered to himself, as he took a little sip from his mug. Before he put down his mug on the table, he felt a presence was walking to him from behind. He turned around to see the knight approaching him.

"So that was the song of your people, huh?" Bedivere said. "It doesn't sound so good."

"Everybody is a critic." The courier responded with a plain face.

"Cheer up, deliveryman." The knight took a sit beside the courier, punching him on his shoulder lightly. "It didn't turn out to be so bad."

"Thank you….I guess."

Both man sat silently while watching the ongoing merry-making. The silence was broken by the knight's words.

"You know." Bedivere said. "I am bound to return to my king on the next day."

"I see." The courier plainly replied. "Have a safe trip then."

The knight was annoyed of the courier's attitude. He slapped the back of his head with his gauntled hand to convey his annoyance.

"Ouch, what was that for?" The courier rubbed the sore spot where the slap landed.

"I wasn't finished yet." The knight stated sternly.

"So, what is it?"

"I want you to come with me."

"Me? To where?"

"Camelot, the capital of kings."

* * *

**This chapter is a tribute to the badass Danny Trejo.**


	5. Chapter 3 : Dew

**Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, and forgive me for the delay. I am very sorry, very sorry, very sorry, very sorry and very sorry about it.**

**I do not own Fallout or Fate/ Stay Night.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**Dew**

"Cold."

It was the first thing that popped out from the courier's mind. The dawn breeze caressed his entire being, penetrating his armor and duster with bone-shivering chillness. John Grimm could feel the rattling of his bones even though he was draped tightly in his black attire. He clutched the collar of his long black coat tighter to his neck to allay the morning cold; it was not very effective. Despite of the shivering, he continued to march alongside with the band of warriors, which was the Bedivere's unit.

Most coldness was avoided by people, especially for people who inhabited the unforgiving environment of Mojave wasteland. The cold air of night and dawn was dry and prickly with jagged particles, and in some specific area such as the Camp Searchlight, radiation enhanced the unpleasantness of the cold, if not its lethality. It wasa common knowledge for every citizen of the New Vegas to be adequately clothed and protectedin order to brave the dangerous nature of Mojave wasteland, be such person a ghoul or super mutant. However, the chillness that the courier experienced presently wasvery different than the one that he had to suffer on daily basis.

Instead of the skin wounding frost of the dawn, the courier felt a pleasant, mild skin pinching cold. Although he still felt the unpleasant joint piercing pain, he was not in the slightest to be troubled and debilitated by the cold. The pain was minor and it was kind of sense-recharging; he felt his drowsiness being washed away by the incoming energy.

The dampness across the courier's uncovered face brought his attention, and he wiped it with his right hand. The liquid substance on his gloved fingers fascinated him, as he brought it closer to his vision. The liquid substance didn't smell putrid, look unusual or taste anything funny; it was just as plain as water, with a light reek of grass and tree. An image from his memory flashed in his mind.

"_It is dew, not sweat." said Arcade in a metallic voice._

"_Dew?" replied the courier as he flicked the watery matter on his fingers. His voice was also muffled by the metallic rebreather on his face._

"_Yes, dew." Arcade continued, as he kept on crouching through the deep forest of the Mount Charleston. Hunting Cazadores' eggs was not a fun thing to do, but Red Lucy in the Thorn had mighty reward(s) in store for those who completed her quests. Following his instinct for rare and prized treasures, the courier undertook all of her requests despite of Arcade Gannon's disapproval. "It is a natural occurrence when water vapor in the air went through a process called condensation, which only happened in a low temperature. The water's gaseous form turned into its liquid form and forming on exposed objects as droplets."_

"_Uh huh..." the courier responded. Even though he had invested his time and effort to improve his science skills, he still had hard time in digesting Arcade's words. "So…dew, huh?"_

"_Yes, dew." The follower of apocalypse chuckled in his thick tesla power armor. It was clear that he had noticed the courier's bewilderment through the auburn lenses of his ever scowling power helmet, even though the said courier was donned thickly and completely in his black ranger outfit and ranger helmet. "He is a goddamn mind reader!" the courier thought to himself as he returned to crouching vigilantly with his augmented sniper rifle ready in his hands._

The courier felt that the same wetness had set on his messy black short hair, soaking his scalp. The coldness began to seep into his brain and his nape, energizing him as it sent jolts to his spine. It was an uncomfortable pleasure.

The air brought the favorable scent of pines and other vegetation in the forest to his nostrils. The dark sky itself was gradually breaking apart as lines after lines of light cracked and divided the grim heavens. The warmth of the slowly appearing, incandescent sun began to fill the air and chase away the frostiness; its light gave color to the darkshadowy forest, revealing the beautiful emerald and bronzed leaves on dark brown woods. The grave silence of the woodland was replaced by the vibrant sound of life, as birds' chirping and the distant echo of the wind's passing rang in his ears. The scene was almost like in the forest of Mount Charleston itself, minusthe acidic stench of the Cazadores nest and the almost constant clattering of the giant mantises' pincers that lurked around the forest. He was bathed in the glorious light of the sun; its warm radiance was feeding him with vitality, unlike the baleful heat of the sun in Mojave.

"Perhaps, it is just the same sun and I am probably stranded to another place unknown." The courier thought. Some followers of the Apocalypse, members of the Enclave and scribes of the Mojave-based Brotherhood of Steel had told him that the world was a much different place before the 'great fire'. Probably there were some parts in the world that were spared from it, and maybe such areas were just like the one where he was presently. "Perhaps I am just transported away to somewhere in Europe." The courier's train of thought continued to trail away while remembering a scene that he had read somewhere. He was quite puzzled where he was and how he could simply be brought here. Still, those thoughts were pushed away by his relishing of the glorious sensation that he was enjoying at the moment. This land, even though its inhabitants were hardly to be kind, was indeed peac-

"Master courier!" a stern voice barked out from the leading knight, breaking the delivery man's daydreaming. "We still have a long distance to pass!"

The courier, being awaken from his musing and realizing that he was lagging behind the group, quickly rushed to the band of warrior that was ahead of him.

"Apologies, dear sir." The courier said apologetically while bowing his head and scratching his hair; he donned a silly look on his face. Red tint also appeared on his cheeks. The soldiers were chuckling at the man's embarrassment while the leading knight, Bedivere could only shook his head in annoyance.

"Sorry about that." The courier continued in his crude and unrefined language, but sincerity in his tone.

"Be more attentive from now on, master courier!" scolded the knight. "I cannot afford tardiness and indiscipline in my unit!"

"Indiscipline? Now you sound more and more like Cassandra Moore." John Grimm thought indignantly, but he did not let such emotion to show up.

"Won't happen again, sir." The courier responded with a bowed gesture. Bedivere only sighed as he turned around to resume leading his men and a guest in a journey to the capital.

* * *

It was a quite unusual journey to begin with….for the courier. Under the prospect of finding some answers on his whereabouts and also finding some piece of technology to contact the people in Mojave, or if he was lucky enough, to return back to New Vegas, the courier consented to go in a journey with the knight and his band of warriors to the 'capital' of this land. After making preparation and saying farewell to the grateful villagers, the courier alongside with the warriors set off for a journey. Unfortunately for the knight leading the band, he had to put up with some silly incidents that were accredited to the courier.

The courier, being the citizen of the Mojave wasteland, was quite okay with its animals like the two-headed Brahmins and towering Bighorners; but when he came face to face with a horse, he was quite shocked. A tall one headed beast with four muscular legs and strands of hair for a tail. Its elongated neck and head shone a graceful beauty, and its mighty body with its mighty cloven feet depicted a powerful strength within the beast. The courier looked upon it with awe and suspicion; the beast before him was clearly not an average mutated animal from the wasteland. The neighing sound that the animal produced startled him, and such action made the soldiers to laugh.

Bedivere had feared that the messenger was another greenhorn in riding and it was proven to be true when the courier confessed that he had never seen such beat before let alone riding it. Pushing away the suspicion on ho in the world that this man had never seen a horse before, Bedivere reluctantly ordered one of his men to let the courier shared a ride, thus ending the silly episode of the courier's inexperience in riding a beast of burden. The soldier complied but not willingly; he made an attempt to humiliate the guest by making him to be thrown away by the horse. Strangely however, the trained horse did not throw the man away even after the nearly invisible signal was made from the rider. The trained horse should be able to detect the inexperienced man and should have indulged the rider's desire totoss the other passenger. It did not happen.

The courier sat peacefully on the beast back while the rider was quite puzzled and annoyed about the fact that his own steed did not obey his command; the calmness between the beast and the passenger was unnerving to him. Somehow, the passenger emanated an invisible familiar aura that the beast recognized as a kin, making an impression that the passenger was a friend to the animal of burden. Still, the journey moved on rather peacefully until another folly by the courier stroke unexpectedly.

After a whole day of travelling on horseback (as a passenger, of course) and a night spent under the stars on the plains of grass, Bedivere began to have better understanding about the courier. He learned that the courier had been a drifter from a vast plain of wasteland called 'America' before he took the profession as the delivery man, that he had been drifting for most of his days and doing his share of vices and virtues until he decided that he should find a place to settle down in the vast and dangerous dead plains of America, and that he made acquaintances with a man called Benny. Unfortunately, the story about the latter was awkwardly cut short by the courier's displeasure to continue, and Bedivere had no choice but to stop pestering him for that, lest he was looking to earn the courier's ire which had proven to be disastrous…..for the bandits. It was unfortunate that the knight still had myriad questions, especially about that bloody knapsack of his that could magically produce even more magical weapons. Even though the conversation with the courier created more questions than answers, the knight grew a feeling of sympathy for the man after learning the stories behind the mysterious courier, thinking that he might have lost a very close friend. The knight could relate to such feeling for it was no stranger emotion for him as well; losing friends and comrades in battle were frequent incidents in his life.

Those feelings, however, was trampled by his rage over the courier's illogical mind and action.

* * *

The party reached the mouth of the forest after passing hills of stones and plains of grass. Horses were released, and the party was ready to venture into the deep forest, since it was the only thing that stood before them and their destination; the morale of the men was high, except for the courier who was extremely agitated of the prospect of entering the woods. Losing argument with the knight whose patience was ever-thinning, the courier followed the party into the woods with great reluctance. With his right hand clutching tightly around the handle of unholstered Ranger Sequoia and his left hand gauntleted in a modified ballistic fist, the courier prayed silently for forgiveness for he had brought Arcade and Boone to the fort out of their disapproval as well, although the visit to the fort turned badly…for its inhabitants of course. With vigilant eyes, the restless courier took paranoid steps in the forest.

The next few minutes could be considered to be ridiculous rather than hilarious. The peaceful crossing of the dark and silent forest was wrecked many times by the courier's crazy shouting and fighting the invisible enemies. Several unfortunate trees were victimized by the paranoid delivery man as he pounded and shot the immobile vegetation into smithereens. Many times that the knight and the soldiers had to drop their belongings and torches while pulling out their swords, only to realize that it was just a false alarm.

"I swear to you!" the courier yelled exasperatingly. "I saw him! With my own eyes!"

"First of all, master courier," said the losing patience knight in a very dangerous calm tone that certainly sweetened the killing intention within. "There is no such thing as a very slim and tall, faceless man in a black suit stalking behind us. And secondly, please master courier, tentacles on the back? That's just plain dumb, even for you."

"B-b-b-b-but I sa-

"Enough!" The fuming knight scolded while pulling the collar of the courier's suit roughly, reducing the distance between the delivery man's panicking face and the knight's furious visage. "I won't tolerate this folly anymore, master courier! Once, it may be funny. But repeatedly, it was annoying!"

The courier was silenced. Clearly, he couldn't win this argument with the angry man. He had to adjust his strategy quickly.

"Apologies and mercy, sir. I kinda lost my focus there for a while." the courier spoke softly with both hands raised in order to calm the angry knight. "I did not mean to disrupt this journey. Once again, I am very sorry."

Releasing his grasp on the courier's suit, the knight relented with a sigh. The delivery man possessed a certain charisma that made almost every angry person to calm down. "Keep your head all the time, master courier, lest you want me to remove it with my broadsword." He warned in a softened tone, as he sheathed his sword and turned back to walking while his men picked up their belongings.

"I'll keep that in my mind." the courier replied sincerely. He cursed himself silently for having his episode of craziness to return in his mind; he had had enough embarrassing moments revolving with a gang of grannies and a bunch of alien invaders attacking him out of nowhere, and a tall faceless stalker in black would certainly not help him either to keep his dignity among the warriors that he was travelling with. He focused his mind harder, trying to eliminate the ridiculous yet somehow scary thoughts in his brain. It was a success, but his vigilant stance did not experience in exploring Vault 22 and the forest of the Mount Charleston had given him a natural dislike to the area that was teeming with vegetation.

"You need not worry here, master John." The knight broke the delivery man's anxiety and restlessness.

"Huh?"

"This is part of the sacred domain of the king of this land." Bedivere said reassuringly, knowing that the man, even with his silly behavior, had an utter abhorrence with the woods.

"Here in the woods, was our king be blessed with invincibility by the ancient deities that resided , don't worry. There is no a sinister specter or demonlurking in here." The knight continued proudly. "This is a holy ground after all."

"_Holy ground?Invincibility? Sounds like what Lanius loved to brag."_ The courier thought as he processedthe words from the knight. "It was that the negotiation with him did not go well. Still it was a good day."The courier remembered how he made the monster of the east ran like a girl before he disintegratedthe running foe into chunks of flesh.

It was a glorious day.

"It is not ghosts and demons that I am afraid of, sir Bedivere." The courier said as he brought himself into the conversation with the knight while trekking alongside with the warriors. "It is insects! Giant insects with pincers as sharp as blades!" He said in a wee bit higher tone, emphasizing the seriousness of the matter that he spoke.

Silence felled once again to the party. And suddenly a mighty laughter broke out as the blurry lines of light began to penetrate the thick mist in the woods, signifying the coming of the dawn.

"Master courier, you really do not learn anything, do you?" Bedivere said while trying to stifle laughter. It failed miserably with the courier shrugging and laughing.

The jolly crowd continued as the morning came to the forest.

* * *

The scene returned to the courier, having his fear of the forested area temporarily dispelled and enjoying the wonders of the woods, being scolded by the knight for his daydreaming and then resuming the journey.

The party walked vigorously even though their stomachs started to sting. Something was inside the mind of the warriors, minus the courier, that kept their hunger at bay. John Grimm noticed it when he saw a mild smile on the faces of the men, including Bedivere. Still, the courier cared a little for what they were feeling right now as he pulled out his canteen. All that mattered was that he was going to find some answers and probably a way to home, and shortly they were going to be realized as the journey that he was undertaking right now was going to an en-

"Mind if I have a sip?" Bedivere asked the courier. "I have emptied mine." He rustled his own leathery wine sack, which was now empty and flat.

"Not at all." The courier said as he handed his cylindrical metallic flask to the knight. The knight drank its content and felt revitalized by the life-giving water inside it.

"Many thanks, master John." Bedivere said gratefully as he returned the man's decanter.

"You are welcome, and please friend, it is embarrassing for me to be called 'master'." The courier smiled with a wrinkled brow. "Just 'courier' will be find, 'John' is even better."

"John it is then." Bedivere responded, earning the courier's nod of approval.

The men continued to walk in silence when the knight brought up a question after few seconds passed from the sharing of the drink.

"That man, Benny, what is his story?"

The courier raised a brow, while his lips arced in displeasure. "I thought I had told you about that matter, friend." His tone indicated the emotion that was dawned on his face. "I do not like to talk about that."

"Come on, John. I know it was hard for losing a friend like him. Bu-

"You are kind, friend. But saying things that you barely understand will cost you your life." The courier, whose body stance turned immobile and rigid after hearing the last words coming for Bedivere's mouth, cut the knight's sentence coldly and dangerously. "Choose carefully, for your next words might be your last."

The soldiers' stance tensed up when hearing such threatening words from the guest traveler to their superior, and their hands reached to their respective scabbards and swords.

"WHAT INSOLENCE!"

"APOLOGIZE NOW, FOOL!"

The men began to shout angrily for their pride as the soldiers under the one of the knights of the round were wounded. Blood was ready to be spilled if Bedivere had not interfered.

Bedivere signaled his men to stand down. Disciplined and trained soldiers they were, personally handpicked by the knight of the round himself form the most elite of the warriors, quickly followed the order even though their anger was still fresh. They hardly knew that their superior had just saved their life.

Bedivere himself was not a proud man, but he knew when praises had to be given, when chastisement had to be bore and when threats and mockery had to be answered. He was shocked to receive such hostile response from the delivery man. Naturally, he would immediately strike down the man for having the audacity to threaten one of the knights of the round; it would not be fatal, but the strike would serve as a painful reminder.

However, this time, such thing did not happen.

Before he could even move his hand to reach the handle of his sword, he felt a very pressuring aura of bloodlust and terror coming from the courier. The insides of his stomach were churning unkindly and the natural instinct of fearing the power beyond comprehension was screaming in his mind; it was nauseating and depressing. Somehow, he knew that on the moment he unsheathed his sword, his life would be forfeited. Cold sweat began to trickle on the nape of his neck, but his face hid such emotion. And fortunately, he managed to stop his men from senseless and gruesome death.

As the soldiers released their grip on their swords, the uneasiness that the knight felt disappeared quickly.

"Please forgive me for my callousness, John." the knight bowed his head to the courier, much to the shock of his men and the courier himself. "I will bear any punishment that you deemed fit for this transgression that I have made."

"Er…that quite alright." the courier responded while he waved his hand dismissively. "No harm done after all."

The knight nodded and the party resumed trekking the so, Bedivere walked beside the courier with intention to know even more about the person in question.

"So, if he was not your friend, who was he actually?" Bedivere asked in hushed voice.

"_It seems that he has no intention to give it a rest." the courier thought to himself. "So be it then. Little information is better than no information at all."_

"He was the man that started my adventures in Mojave." the courier said with a tired sigh. "He was the man that taught me a very valuable lesson on life in the wasteland."

"Oh? What is that?"

"Never trust anyone." the courier replied in a cold, monotone voice.

This shocked and upset the knight. He knew betrayal could earn distrust. But in the end, everyone would find someone who they could put their trust upon; his king would be a fine example for it. So, what could possibly make such man to have such cynical view on life? How did he even live with that?

"He betrayed you, didn't he?"

"He killed me, actually." John Grimm said darkly. An unpleasant reminiscence was dawned in his mind. "Shot me in the head while I lay helpless on the ground." He thumped his fore head with his forefinger.

"How do you even survive?"

"I almost don't." John Grimm continued. "I was buried after that. I probably would die if not for the stalking ro- I mean the stalker named Victor that dug me out from the dirt and the doctor named Mitchells that nursed me back to health."

Bedivere began to understand what was the reason behind the courier's such bleak view. In this land, blood would always be repaid in blood, and such betrayal was equal to the most gruesome death. Still, there were people that were kind enough to rescue the delivery man, and thus it gave no right for the courier to claim that everyone cannot be trusted.

"Victor saved because he was ordered to." The courier said, knowing the contradictory that was dawning in the knight's mind. "Doc. Mitchells was probably the only one without any ulterior motives. But even he can't be considered as the general populace of Mojave."

"Life in your land was never easy, wasn't it?" Bedivere commented as he remembered the tale of Mojave from the courier.

"Yes, everyone got problems and almost everyone was taking the easy way to fix their problems." the courier continued with a tired look in his face. He himself was not a saint either during his adventures in Mojave. "And Benny was one of them."

"What did he need from you?"

"An item within my possession to be delivered. The item that was both the source of all the problems in Mojave and the answer to those problems as well."

"What was it then?"

"That is a story for next time, friend." The courier gave a slight smile while Bedivere's face turned sour. The knight showed his dissatisfaction on the fact that the delivery man was holding the truth, but he let such thing to slip since he was confident that he could pry more truths about the courier in the future. The sun rose higher and higher.

"That bastard, Benny." Bedivere's curiosity was still not quenched. "What happened to him?"

"Believe it or not, I kinda let him get away." The courier replied. "Unscathed."

"WHAT!"

"I got him cornered, turned his men against him, and ready to take his life." The courier explained. "Still, the man tried to parlay with me. I had to hear what he had to say at the very least."

Bedivere couldn't believe what he was hearing at the moment. How could a man so cold like the courier, be able to be reasonable to the villain that nearly took his life. It was as if there was two personality that inhabited in that one body.

"There were so many incosistency in his argument that I found too pleasant to be true. I let him go with a warning never to return again."

"What happened next?"

"My suspicion proved to be true. Benny indeed hid something from me. It was his reason why he wanted the item that I supposed to deliver so badly."

"What was it?"

"What every powerful man craves for." The courier said blatanly. "More power."

Bedivere couldn't understand what the courier was saying, but he knew the man was unfortunate to be caught in somekind of power struggle. It appeared that usch thing would take more than a single journey to be explained thoroughly to him by the delivery man. Still, he had feelings that it was not the last time for the courier to see the villain Benny, and the item that he stole from the courier.

"So, Benny kept his promise and never to be seen again, huh."

"Well, I did met him again, even though it was his last hour."

"Huh, what do you mean?"

"He was under the mercy of a man, who let me to decide what fate was to become for the unfortunate Benny."

"And, what did you decide?"

"What do you expect? A simple handshake and a word of forgiveness" John Grimm chuckled, a confused look of the knight. "I gave him a proper reward for his wrongdoings. A crucifixion."

"_You sick vindictive bastard!" such words echoed deep in his mind, along with the image of an angry and terrified man. _

* * *

Bedivere let out a silent gasp when he learned the terrible fate that the villain suffered in the end. He was going to ask more questions when his men began to shouted in joy and rushed to the front. It appeared that his questions had to wait for they had reached their destination. He couldn't help but to let a smile dawned on his face. He finally could returned to the service of his beloved King.

The courier, noticing the elation of the men, quickened his pace throught the forested area, following the men. He reached a rather small cliff where the warriors were already there to enjoy the sight. As he put his gaze to the direction of the soldiers, his jaw dropped down.

What was laid before him was a majestic city of marbles and emeralds on the vast sea of green . Unlike the rundown and dirty buildings in the New Vegas, beatiful spires and magnificent structures of white adorned the city with lush and healthy trees mingled side by side with them, creating a beautiful combination between stones and trees. Tall mighty walls of stone were circling the city, providing the protection. And the most eye catching aspect of the city was the tallest and the grandest structure that was sitting in the midst of the city. The struture possessed a several spires that almost reached the sky and numerous windows that were glinting with the light of the sun, adorned its walls. Another high walls of stones were dividing the grandest structure of the city with other buildings around it, making an impression that Its inhabitants were standing high above the denizens of the city.

The sight was majestic, but somehow it potrayed a scary similarities with the legion's fort. Although it gave out an aura of power and excellence, it also potrayed an image of social division and segregation. John Grimm did not like it; He may be awe struck by its beauty, but he had his suspicion about it. Moreover, the styles of the structures of the city did not indicate that the horrors of the great war ever reached this place. Hell, there was not even a scar of the great war or remnant of the old civilization as far as his eyes could see. This place had its own civilization and technology, even though they were quite primitive when compared to those in Mojave. The thought that he might be in a very, very different place; far, far away from his own world suddenly dawned in his mind.

It was a very disturbing thought. He shivered at such notion.

"That is our capital, John." Bedivere said as he approached the courier from behind. His face was a face of pride and joy. "The grand jewel of all Albion!"

"_Albion? Oh God, I don't like this."_

"Sir John, I welcome you to our capital." Bedivere announced. "The city of the king of knights. Camelot."

* * *

**This chapter is a tribute to Ilaria Graziano and Donna Burke. Their voices are just magnificent. **


End file.
